Child Psychology
by Neuroses-Isn't-Just-A-Word
Summary: As a general rule, Lyn didn't like working with con artists. They were like children but instead of their antics being cute they were felonies. And Neal Caffrey was the Child King.
1. Little Victories

Special Agent Peter Burk was standing in front of his boss disgruntled, not that he was much else this early morning, and especially without coffee. Special Agent Hughes gave a long suffering sigh.

"Look, we need an objective perspective. You like him too much and most of the agents either are too suspicious or too charmed to give me an accurate risk assessment."

"Risk assessment?" Peter growled before he could consider that growling at his already irritated boss probably wouldn't get him what he wanted. But hey, he had already started, might as well finish. "He's not a damn car, he's a human being and an asset to this department."

Hughes straightened in his chair and gave Peter his best "boss" look, the one that made even the most seasoned agents sit down and shut up. Peter was too caffeine deprived to do the smart thing and shove his pride and sit down but he was sane enough to stop talking.

"This isn't just coming from me, Burke. The higher ups want this and they're going to get it." Hughes sighed again, this time inwardly. He didn't enjoy causing Burk grief. Though he would probably never completely trust Caffrey the kid _was_ an asset and- though he'd never admit it out loud- not that bad of a guy. "My boss sent me a list of qualified people but since you know him best, I'm going to let _you_ choose who gets the assignment."

Peter knew this was much more generous than Hughes needed to be, and as ridiculous as he thought this whole affair was, orders were orders.

"Thanks." This was met by another curt look. "Sir." Peter exited his boss' office and looked down at the list of submitted names. Choosing a shrink for Neal Caffrey was definitely _not_ what he though he'd be doing today.

* * *

Neal Caffrey was in a particularly good mood this morning. He had successfully charmed Sandy, the young woman working the counter at his new favorite coffee house, into giving him a free Danish and, at least for the moment, the crushing weight of the perpetual roulette of mysteries that was his life was absent.

"Good morning, Peter," the con man chirped- _chirped!_ What did they put in that Danish? The FBI agent didn't even look up from his desk. He was stooped over something, his expression a cross between annoyed and resigned. Neal sat in one of the chairs facing his partner, settling for the long haul. "I said, _Good morning, _Peter." Nothing. "What have you got there?" Not even a grunt. Neal considered the possibility that Peter had fallen asleep with his eyes open. "I think Elizabeth's planning to run away with a horse rancher from Yemen."

"El's allergic to horses." Neal rolled his eyes. At least he had gotten it to speak. He watched Peter slump back into his chair. "I'm trying to pick out a shrink." Neal suddenly felt like he had strayed somewhere he really wasn't supposed to be, and not in the good way.

"Oh."

"For you." This rudely jerked Neal's free Danish high away from him.

"Uhhh, that's really nice of you Peter, but I don't think it's necessary."

"Well the Bureau thinks it is." The younger man scoffed.

"Dare I ask why?"

"They want a _risk assessment_." It was clear exactly what the agent thought about _that._ This did not appease Neal's incredulousness. Suddenly the annoyed look on Peter's was gone from his face as a spark of ingenuity ignited in his eyes. "Wait. I got it." The agent practically jumped out of his seat in his enthusiasm. He called out a 'stay here, Caffrey' over his shoulder as he headed back towards Hughes' office.

Neal, too blind-sighted to protest, let himself sulk in his chair before trying to cheer himself up by messing with the things on Peter's desk.

* * *

"Lyn Marrow."

Hughes looked up at Agent Burke who had unceremoniously burst into his office. "Excuse me?"

"Dr. Lyn Marrow. A Ph. D. in Psychology and a Masters in Criminology. She's a practicing psychologist who consults with law enforcement as an expert witness and as a profiler. She's plenty qualified." Hughes responded by closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"She wasn't on the list." Peter was about to open his mouth to retort. "I'm sure she's plenty qualified but it's probably better for Caffrey to be evaluated by a man considering his… effect on women. And she's not FBI."

"But she _has_ consulted with us before. And Lyn can handle Caffrey." At least he was pretty sure she could, last he heard she as getting married. "She has a highly sensitive bullshit sensor-" Hughes's eyebrows twitched in surprise at Burke's crudeness, "-her words, not mine. Trust me, she's good at getting inside these guys' heads. And besides, I think Caffrey would trust someone not directly associated with the Bureau more." Hughes looked at him suspiciously.

"Arrange a meeting. Let's see how this goes." Burke gave a sigh of relief after he exited his boss' office for the second time this morning. Now all he had to do was convince Lyn. Peter winced at the thought. He _definitely_ needed coffee.

* * *

Lyn Marrow closed the door to her apartment with her foot and then unceremoniously dropped her suitcases on the floor. She blew a stubborn strawberry blonde piece of hair out of her face and scanned the living room. As she suspected, it was empty; Roger was still at work. The young woman fiddled with her engagement ring, like she always did when she thought of her future husband. She took the seven steps from the foyer to the couch and face planted. A trans-Atlantic flight would do that to you.

Dr. Evan Birsch, her former graduate advisor, had moved back to his native England and was working with Scotland Yard. Receiving a particularly interesting, a.k.a. convoluted, secretive, and nearly impossible, case he had wanted someone he knew, someone he could trust working with him. So he had called her and she had predictably jumped at the opportunity. She loved that ornery old bastard.

Now all that was left was blacking out.

Naturally, the universe was not that kind. The phone just _had_ to ring, and ring and ring-

"What?" It wasn't the most graceful greeting, but she wasn't the most graceful person.

"Jesus, Lyn, what's eating you?" The voice registered in the back of her mind.

"Peter? Peter Burke?"

"Yeah, Lyn, it's me. Can you meet me at the office? I may have a job for you." Lyn groaned not caring that it was unprofessional.

"Peter, I just got off a plane from England. Is it urgent?"

"Yeah, it is." The woman sighed.

"Fine. Just… give me an extra twenty minutes."

"I'll give you ten."

"Go to hell, Burke." Lyn hung up after that abrupt statement but wasn't worried about backlash, Peter knew her well enough to know she didn't mean it. Sighing again the woman removed herself from the comfort of the couch and staggered into the bathroom. Her long limbs hit the counter with a soft thud but she didn't pay much attention. Water hit the basin and then was splashed on her face. Ah, cool relief. Ah, nice, soft towel. When she finally looked at her reflection the psychologist frowned. With her make up gone and hair up in a newly neat ponytail she looked all of sixteen; she blamed the freckles. And the fact that puberty had made her shoot up like a beanpole -5'8", tall for a girl- but refused to give her curves. So here she was, 28 years old and looked like a really tall high school freshman. Well, too late to do anything about it now. Duty and possible employment called.

The White Collar division of the FBI hadn't changed much. She had only consulted with them three times; normally she was called in on homicides and kidnappings. But Peter Burke had made an impression. The second case she worked with him took three months to close and they had gotten to know each other fairly well. She wasn't ashamed to say she had a crush on him at first. Tall, dashing, intelligent, no straight woman could blame her. That had all stopped, however, once she had met his wife, who she liked instantly.

"Hi, I'm Lyn Marrow. I'm here to see Special Agent Burke." The secretary smiled in response to her own and directed her to an office on the upper floor. She had managed to walk up most of the stairs before someone attempted to talk to her in her travel-logged state. A body sidled up to hers with a smoothness that could only mean trouble. Lyn turned to her new companion and was met with a pair of blue, blue eyes and one heart stopping, knee weakening, million mega-watt smile.

"Hi, I'm Neal Caffrey."

* * *

Neal had long ago gotten bored with snooping around Peter's desk. He needed cases, needed puzzles to occupy his mind. It was always going, going, going. If he didn't have something to focus on his mind tended to wallow, wallow, wallow; mostly about Kate.

The con man was now swiveling aimlessly in Peter's chair and observing the White Collar division below him. He enjoyed people watching, figuring out the motive behind their actions, what each wanted, what each was coning for; it was entertaining, and good reference material, and it delayed the wallowing for a little while.

Then Neal saw something particularly interesting. A new player came into the game. A tall, slender strawberry blonde with legs that went all the way up and all the way down. Time to introduce himself. After all, he did have extraordinary people skills and this mysterious new she might as well get the best first impression of the White Collar office, to smooth any dealings with her, of course. He quickly, gracefully, and quietly made his way to her side, as only Neal Caffrey could.

"Hi, I'm Neal Caffrey." His eyes took in every detail, observation was important in his line of work. Ten seconds of observation could save a con, even your life. Freckles -adorable-, wide hazel-green eyes –charming-, long hair gold and red and pin straight, even in that ponytail; an all around pretty girl. And she looked very tired.

What was she doing here? Was she a client? She looked like she should be teaching kindergarten or rescuing puppies. Not that looks couldn't be deceiving. He caught a flash of recognition in her eyes at his name. She had probably seen his photo in the paper but when dealing with an unknown person it was best to err on the side of caution. He gestured towards the remainder staircase and they began to ascend.

"Lyn Marrow."

"What brings to the White Collar division?"

"I'm meeting with Special Agent Burke." Vague, and yet her tone was not rude. He gave her his most disarming expression.

"What for?" They reached the upper floor and he stopped walking and turned to face him.

"A job. I'm sorry, I can't really talk about it." Her tone and expression was pleasant, friendly but her eyes were sharp, observant, analytical, not the slightly dazed, doe-like look of someone bowled over by his charms. So maybe she shouldn't be teaching kindergarten. Or maybe he should kick it up a notch. He stepped closer so he was firmly inside of her personal space.

"Aw, c'mon, you can tell me." He lowered his voice and gave her that smile, that particular combination that made people want to lean in closer. He was rewarded when her pupils dilated and her mouth parted, just a little. And we have lift off.

"Lyn!" Peter's bark from his office seemed to shake her enough to break eye contact.

"Well," Neal stepped to the side and saw her eyes flicker back up to his, "I'll let you get to it." She gave him another of her smoke screen friendly smiles but it lacked all of the cool neutrality of her previous one. Neal smelled victory.

"Thank you." The woman pivoted purposefully, the force of it saying: "look, I'm completely cool and collected and you don't affect me at all." It would have made much more impact if she had turned into Peter's office and not the wall next to Peter's office.

* * *

"Oh look, a wall." Lyn knew her voice was supposed to sound dispassionate to counteract that fact that she had missed the door but she sounded more dazed than anything. And she really didn't want to sound like she felt. Lyn could practically feel Caffrey's grin burning into the back of her skull and she just wanted to hit him. That would, however, require her to turn around and face him. Instead she took a step to the right and walked through the door, like a normal person this time.

That guy was _good._


	2. Who are you?

Peter watched Neal and Lyn interact outside his office for about ten seconds until he figured he should interfere. After all, he couldn't have Neal seducing the psychologist he assured his boss could handle him out in the hall. It just got better when Lyn missed the doorway on her first try. The agent shook his head. He should have known something like this would happen when he returned to his office and found it empty. He gave Neal his best disapproving glare after the woman walked past him into his office and gestured for him to go. Neal just faced him with that stupid smug expression, gave a shrug and a smirk and walked away.

"So, Peter, what's so urgent?" Her voice sounded normal and she was the picture of decorum when he sat across from her. Peter sighed. This might have been easier if she hadn't met Caffrey first.

"It's…" Peter trailed off, trying to find the right way to phrase this. Lyn did not look pleased at this pause. "…kind of a favor." A brow quirked.

"A favor?" She sent him a glare and began to rise. "I'm going home."

"Lyn." His voice was harsher, authoritative. He was done humoring Lyn just because she decided to be more difficult than usual today. To her credit she looked duly chastised and sat back in her chair.

"Sorry, Peter. It's… been a long day."

"It's 10 in the morning."

"That should be a testament to my day so far." She shifted in her chair to lean forward. "So what's this favor?"

"You've already met Neal Caffrey." He watched her tired face go from apologetic to irritated. Well, it was better than doe-eyed and goofy. "The higher ups in the department want what they call a-" Peter couldn't believe he was going to say this for the third time today "-risk assessment of him. How much of a threat is he, what is the likelihood that he'll run and why, things like that." The woman leaned back again and he could practically hear the gears in her head turning.

"Hmmm. Obviously you're not happy about this. The FBI has psychologists on payroll. It would be easier for you to have one of them do it rather than call me in for a favor. Especially when you know how I feel about con men. You're worried about FBI biases clouding your shrinks' judgment."

"Or I know you're the best." Lyn wasn't fooled.

"You're worried about him. Attached. You care. You want someone who would be loyal to you before the Bureau." Peter couldn't help but smile. Lyn had always been impressive. "But Neal Caffrey? You spent three years chasing him, learning everything about him. Do you always know what's going on in his head?"

"As much as I hate to admit it, no. But I do know what's going on in here." The man gestured at his chest. "He's a good guy using his talents for all the wrong things. I want him to be better. And I don't want anything, like this witch-hunt evaluation, to get in the way of his progress."

Lyn slumped in her seat. _Way to bring out the big guns, Peter_.

"Just look at his file first, before you make a decision, please." He knew his expression was open and a little pleading; there was no use in trying to disguise anything from Lyn. The woman in question gave an exasperated sigh and threw up her hands in defeat.

"Ok, ok. I'll look at his file." The agent smiled at her as he handed over the rather thick item. "You do know you wouldn't have been able to wear me down this quickly if I wasn't this tired." She gave him a smile to show she wasn't trying to be snippy. Peter just grinned right back.

"You don't think I know that? Why do you think I didn't let you sleep first?" Lyn rolled her eyes but her smile got wider. After her departure Peter relaxed back in his chair with a more confident air about him. She would say yes. If there was anything Lyn couldn't resist, it was a chance to look in at a particularly devious and interesting psyche. And whose psyche was better qualified than Neal Caffrey's?

* * *

"So," Neal slid back into Peter's office with the glow of a successful charming radiating off him. "What was that about?" Peter gave him a look that told he was still a bit annoyed with him.

"At the moment, none of your business." Neal perked up like a shark perked up at the scent of blood in the water.

"At the moment? So she's coming back." It was probably his last statement not being a question that earned another 'drop it, Neal, you insufferable child' look from his handler. "What? She was cute." Peter tried to hide a smirk but Neal caught it. What did Peter know that Neal didn't?

"Just get back to work. There's a stack of cold cases on your desk calling your name." If Peter didn't sound so amused Neal would have just shrugged the order off as his usual gruffness. The con man shot his partner a suspicious look. What the hell was so funny? That he though the girl was cute? She was. Hmmm, time to "comply" with Peter's request, if only to get out from under his thumb long enough to do some research. The younger man stood up and mock saluted his handler.

"Yes, sir." Neal didn't even wait around to see Peter roll his eyes. He had work to do. Lyn Marrow, just who are you?

* * *

The woman in question was futilely trying to get some sleep. She had dropped her bag, much heavier with that con man's file in it, on the coffee table and managed to slink into the bedroom and struggle into pajamas. Despite the fact she was exhausted and under the covers in her lovely, soft bed, and had closed all the curtains, sleep was elusive.

She felt that buzz under her skin, the kind of buzz that will keep you going no matter what, the one she got when she consulted on a particularly interesting case.

_Damn you, Burke!_

She didn't even care that the entirety of the comforter landed on the floor when she threw it off. Roger would just roll his eyes at her in that affectionate way of his and remake the bed. Her thumb automatically went to fiddle with her engagement ring but found only flesh.

_Shit! That stupid thief had better not- Oh._ She had taken it off when she went into the bathroom to wash her face. The woman looked and low and behold one diamond engagement ring was sitting innocently on the bathroom counter. Great. And now she felt guilty. Over accusing a known thief of stealing something. God, she needed caffeine, caffeine and sugar. She quickly checked the clock in the kitchen. Only 11:18. Perfect. Sugar and caffeine were only a phone call away.

It took only ten minutes for all 5'4", including her mass of curly brown hair, of pastry chef to practically dance through her door. Thankfully with a fresh batch of caramel éclairs in one hand and dark, dark coffee in the other. These items were promptly set on the kitchen table before said pastry chef launched herself at Lyn.

"Oh, I missed you!" Lyn couldn't help but smile. Susan Whistler should have annoyed her to no end but instead had managed to charm, bake, and hug herself into Lyn's life.

"I was only gone for two weeks." Lyn hugged back anyways. Susan sprung away as quickly as she jumped in.

"Come, sit, sit! You look exhausted."

"Thanks. I feel worse." See: guilty, irritated, dead on feet.

"Uh-oh. What was that look?"

"What look?" Susan's little, round face became stern.

"That 'I've got a pinecone stuck up where the sun don't shine' look." Lyn gave her a dry look.

"Lovely imagery, Susan." But her smaller friend just stared at her expectantly. And she had brought sugar. And caffeine. "It's just, I've got a job offer, from Peter, the FBI agent, works in White Collar, that involves this…" What _was_ the right word? "…_guy_."

"Ooooooo. Is he cute?" The psychologist rolled her eyes.

"I ran into a wall." Susan's subsequent laughter was not appreciated. Lyn took this opportunity to grab one of the éclairs. Oh, god. Caramelly heaven. Susan finally calmed down enough to pour two cups of coffee (as a bribe, Lyn was sure of it) and continue to question her.

"So what's the problem with this guy who can make you run into walls?"

"He's just…" Lyn paused. At this point she was definitely –read: somewhat- sure she was going to turn down the job and give Peter a list of people that should fit his criteria. But just in case, through the hand of God, or if Caffrey's smile was any indication, through some sort of trickery of the Devil, she did say yes, she shouldn't divulge any details. Lyn sighed. "I'm sorry, Susan, I can't talk about it."

"Can you vaguely talk about it?" Please, she was a trained psychologist. She could be vague.

"He's the kind of narcissist who charms and smarms his way through life taking whatever he wants, not caring about the damage he does or the consequences of his actions." Ok, that wasn't really all that vague. "Or at least, that's the general idea." Susan looked fairly stunned at her little rant.

"Ok, sweetie. You know I have total faith in your freakishly accurate, bordering on mind reading, psychological skills." Lyn was immediately suspicious.

"But…" Lyn prompted.

"But… Peter's your friend, right?"

"More or less."

"So why would he ask you to be involved with this," Susan smirked, "_guy_ if he didn't have a good reason." Lyn responded by taking a determined bite out of her second éclair.

Peter _did_ have a good reason. Sort of. It was better to have Caffrey analyzed by someone who wouldn't feel pressured by the Bureau to skew the data one way or the other. However, Peter was also biased. He was friends, good friends with the con man and his main if not only concern was helping the younger man, not getting an accurate assessment. Did she really want to take on the responsibility of playing mediator between Peter Burke and the FBI? Especially when Caffrey's future was probably in the balance? No, she didn't like con men, yes, he had bowled her over and that irked her to no end, but she wasn't going to take that out on him through her profession.

And then there was the opportunity to take a peek into Neal Caffrey's mind. Most of what she heard about him was the same as anyone else who worked with/in law enforcement: his heists, his charm, his forgeries, his cons. But from what she had seen through Peter, this guy was unique, special, and Lyn really wanted to find out what made him that way. She could suck it up and deal with incessant lies, evasions, and trickery and the occasional victory for Caffrey. Probably.

* * *

Neal grinned at the freshly printed papers in his hand and sauntered his way to his partner's office. Peter was almost not surprised when Neal came swaggering through his door, a 'I've just pulled one over on you' look plastered on his too pretty face; the agent had gotten accustomed to Neal bursting into his life whenever and wherever he pleased.

"You've solved one of your cases already?" Neal felt it was a testament to his finely honed talents that Peter didn't sound shocked at the idea. The con man dropped his stack of papers on Peter's desk.

"Lyn Marrow-"

Peter let out a sound that was half sigh half growl.

"Oh, god."

"Born April 10th, 1981 in Phoenix, Arizona. Her father, Jason Marrow, is in the Marine Corps, her mother, Vivian Marrow, owns a boutique. One older sister named Andrea, works as a nurse. She entered Stanford at age 16 for her undergrad, attended NYU for her Ph. D. in Psychology as well as earning a Masters in Criminology. Today she is living in Manhattan working as a therapist and a consultant for various law enforcement." Peter glared at Caffrey's wide, and currently insufferable grin. He should have known better than to expect Caffrey to actually _work_ instead of…_this_.

"Your point?" Neal supported himself on his palms as he leaned forward for effect.

"She's _my_ therapist, isn't she?"

"Doesn't anything I say get through to you? Do the words 'none of your business' literally mean nothing?" Neal face read 'c'mon now, Peter'. "She's thinking about it." Neal straightened of the desk and if he were the kind to do a victory dance, he would be doing so. "Now get back to _work_ and stop cyber stalking Lyn Marrow."

* * *

Lyn had tried to resist, really, she did but that file kept _calling_ to her. And she had surrendered. The file spread out in front of her wasn't the whole thing, three years of research generated more paperwork than you could fit into one, albeit one very thick, file. Peter had given her the basics, some more interesting parts, and some of the things Caffrey had done while working for White Collar. That's how Roger found her when he came home hours later, stooped over various papers that littered their coffee table.

"Lyn? Working already?" At the sound of his amused voice the woman jumped from her half bent position and threw herself at her fiancé who responded by picking her up and swinging her around in a circle.

God, it felt good to be back in Roger's arms. He was tall and broad and warm and she just wanted to stay where she was and revel for a while.

"Mmmmm, I missed you."

"Missed you too, the apartment was way to neat while you were away." Lyn playfully smacked his arm. Lyn loved the sound of his voice; it was deep and rumblely and had kept enough of that South Carolina twang to be charming. She finally disentangled herself from him to let him put away his jacket and kick off his shoes. "So how was Merry Old England?"

"Cold, dreary, fantastic. I forgot how much I miss Birsch. It was great working with him again."

"Mm-hm" Lyn settled back on the couch in front of the coffee table, letting Roger rummage around the kitchen for dinner. "I see you got a new case?"

"Yeah, from Peter."

"Ah yes, the mysterious and important Peter." His tone wasn't as light as it should have been.

"Don't be jealous," Lyn teased.

"I'm not jealous." Lyn rolled her eyes.

"You're always jealous." Roger poked his head out of the cut out between the kitchen and the living room.

"Well can you blame me?" But his tone was playful again and he was smiling so Lyn smiled back and held up her hand so he could see the engagement ring.

"You've already got the ring on my finger, I think you've won." It was Roger's turn to roll his eyes. He made his way to sit next to her and Lyn immediately cuddled up.

"So you've already said yes?"

"No, I told him I'd think about it." Roger eyed the mass expansion of papers on the table.

"But you're going to say yes." Lyn looked back at the contents of the file; at the papers that told her Caffrey sent Burke birthday and Christmas cards during the three years Peter was perusing him and after his incarceration, that detailed how he escaped prison four months before his release date for a girl, described how he hated guns. They also told her more details of his cons, pictures of his forgeries, profiles of the people he robbed and the items he took from them, and all the damage he had "allegedly" caused.

Lyn turned her head to kiss her fiance. Yeah, she was going to say yes.


	3. Observations

Elizabeth Burke liked to think of herself as an understanding person. You would have to be when married to an FBI agent. That kind of marriage meant you would have to share your husband, not with another woman, but with an entire other life. She knew Peter, the hard-ass FBI agent that people fled from when he was in a mood, and her Peter were different people. She also knew that FBI Peter would, more often than not, keep her Peter away from her in the mornings and at dinner. Hell, FBI Peter might get her Peter shot, or stabbed, or, God forbid, _killed_. But Elizabeth smiled, mostly in relief, every time her Peter walked through the door, and understood that FBI Peter was a part of him, a big part, a necessary part, or _her_ Peter wouldn't exist.

Elizabeth wasn't going to lie; when Peter spent three years chasing Neal Caffrey, learning everything about him from his shoe size to his favorite foods to his preferred methods of cracking a safe, she was a little jealous. She seriously doubted Peter knew her shoe size. But being jealous of Neal was ridiculous, her relationship with her husband and the con- or ex-con's relationship with her husband was nowhere near the same thing. But for three years it had all been about Neal. And Elizabeth was prepared to resent him. Especially when she saw his photograph.

But then Neal broke out of prison. For love. Elizabeth's heart had melted. She found herself being Neal's defender, even against Peter. And that was before she even met him. She thought that was enough to qualify her as understanding.

What she didn't understand was what her husband was explaining to her.

"They want Neal evaluated?" Peter was putting on a yellow/gold tie that didn't really go with his shirt but Elizabeth was too distracted to correct him. Why would the Bureau need Neal to be psychoanalyzed? If they wanted to know how Neal's mind work they should just ask Peter. After all, he _had_ spent almost a third of their marriage chasing him and had caught him, _twice_. Did they not trust Peter's judgment? Then why would they let Neal out into Peter's custody? Elizabeth frowned. Something about this wasn't right. "Why?"

"I'm not sure yet. The orders came from above Hughes and he either doesn't know or he isn't telling me. But he did make the decision of who analyzes Neal mine." Her fashion blind husband grinned. "I got Lyn to do it."

Ah, Lyn Marrow. Another person Elizabeth felt she shouldn't have liked. Then again, any wife would resent a pretty twenty-something staring at her husband with the mix of adoration and admiration that bespoke of a crush. But that had been _years_ ago. And when Lyn had been faced with her the girl had looked embarrassed and ashamed, like she had been caught with her hand in the proverbial cookie jar. And she was friendly, and whip smart, and cute. It was the freckles. The girl was just _covered_ in them.

"You got her to say yes?" Lyn was notoriously difficult when it came to consulting jobs. You wanted her because she was so good and when that stubbornness was directed at the perp, they really didn't stand a chance. But before she said yes, you had to meet her demands, well, one demand. She wanted access to everything. The girl explained that she couldn't make a truly accurate assessment unless she saw all the evidence, all the research, and if not participating in than at least observing the interrogations. And not everyone was comfortable or happy to share everything with a civilian.

There was a rumor floating around White Collar during that couple month stint Lyn had consulted there that she had originally wanted to be a cop but the recruitment officer took one look at her and showed her the door.

"I sent her home with some of Neal's greatest hits. She's going to say yes."

_Well, that might do it_. "And what does Neal think about this?" Peter sat down on the bed next to her and his face became more somber.

"He wasn't all that happy when he found out. I don't blame him." Peter then rolled his eyes. "But he was grinning like a maniac when he put things together and realized Lyn was going to be the one assessing him." Elizabeth was a little confused at Peter's explanation.

"Put what things together?" Elizabeth watched as her husband's face twisted into reluctant amusement.

"Oh, they had a little… altercation yesterday. It didn't end gracefully for Lyn." The woman felt a twinge of sympathy for Lyn's blood pressure. She could only imagine was an _altercation_ with Neal Caffrey entailed. Peter leaned over to kiss her before heading out the door.

"Will you be home for dinner?' It was an automatic question now.

"I'll see what I can do." It was an automatic response and nowhere near a promise. But Elizabeth Burke was an understanding person.

* * *

Lyn was glad Peter gave her her own office, but she wished the walls weren't made of glass. When going over files before interviewing a subject she liked privacy. Her biggest asset to her profession was her objectivity; the ability to study a person, take in every detail and analyze them, dissect them, and understand them without getting emotionally involved. The child psychologist her mother had forced upon her had told her she had the ability to bypass her empathy. Lyn liked to think of it as objectivity because it didn't make her sound like a serial killer.

But it was difficult to be objective when she could see everyone and everyone could see her and what she was doing. Lyn had a nagging feeling she was doing something she really wasn't supposed to.

When chasing someone down she often had to look at evidence and reports and give profiles at the same time right in the squad room with detectives and officers and it never bothered her then. But Lyn wasn't hunting down Neal Caffrey, in fact he could walk into White Collar any minute and stand over her and watch her try to analyze his files. It was an unsettling thought.

* * *

Neal had long ago mastered the art of multi-tasking. He was on one hand listening to Peter describe their new case and on the other scanning the White Collar Crime Unit for Lyn Marrow. Listening around corners to private phone conversations was also an art he had firmly under his belt. She was here and she was trying to get inside his head. If he wasn't carefully schooling his expressions to match what Peter was saying he would have grinned.

He had been angry at first, that the Bureau kept making him jump through hoops after he had risked his life time and time again for them. But being angry didn't solve anything. There was always a different angle, another play; no problem was insurmountable. This could be fun if done right. If anything it would enlighten him to what the Bureau's intentions are.

The con man didn't spot Marrow herself but he did see a clerk struggle up the stairs with two boxes from the archives, boxes that looked like they might have his case number on them.

"Neal?" Peter's voice came into the foreground of his consciousness.

"Yeah, Peter. Sounds like a standard Cartwheel. Dudley should be put under surveillance. He's going to make a deposit soon. Will you excuse me?"

Peter's eyes narrowed as he watched his "partner's" figure move to help the clerk assigned to help Lyn with her research move boxes of his own files. The agent felt an urge to call Neal back but Lyn was going to have to deal with him sooner or later, she might as well get used to the ex-con now.

After assuring the clerk that he could handle both boxes himself and that she deserved a break Neal allowed himself the license to break into a smirk before entering Marrow's borrowed office. The woman was surrounded by paper and boxes, her head bent with the side of her bottom lip caught in her teeth in concentration. Neal set down his load to get her attention. She didn't even flinch.

"Thanks, Rachael."

"No problem." That caught her attention. Her head jerked up but the only sign of surprise was a slight widening of the eyes and the release of her bottom lip.

"Oh, hello."

Neal had been expecting something a little more dramatic. But maybe it was better that she remained composed; it meant she would be a more interesting opponent.

"How is the research going?" His voice was laddened with amusement. There was just something funny about this situation.

The girl was unusually still but her eyes were bright and alert and she never broke eye contact. She was either nervous and good at hiding it or trying not to spook him. She tilted her lips up into a friendly expression.

"It's going well for the amount of paper work you've generated. Not the most I've seen, though going through it has never felt like stalking until now."

Ah-ha! Neal's grin spread into a full-fledged smile. There was a crack in her expression. She had blinked and shook her head slightly. She was surprised at herself; that last statement had not been screened and vetted before exiting her mouth. But she didn't blush or stutter or try to take it back and Neal could commend her for owning up to it. He decided not to comment, to choose another avenue, and keep her on her toes.

"Aren't you going to start asking me questions?"

"Not at the moment."

"I thought you were here to profile me."

"I am profiling you."

"Caffrey!" Hughes' bark cut through the little world they had created. Neal sighed dramatically.

"We never seem to get a moment alone, do we?"

Marrow shrugged and her lips quirked in real amusement. "Well I'll have to ask you questions eventually."

The girl moved to tuck her hair behind her ear and Neal saw the diamond before the ring and it's placement. Neal internally frowned. That had _definitely_ not been there before; he would have noticed. But his keeper's boss was calling and the weight of the tracker on his ankle reminded him he had to comply. With a little flourish, because Neal Caffrey never did anything without style, the ex-con turned his back on his most recent, and apparently _engaged_, adversary.

* * *

With a tip of the hat Caffrey strutted out of her office. As far as surprise encounters go Lyn thought it went fairly well, with the exception of the stalking comment. She didn't know why she had said it. Lyn hoped this blurting out things that Caffrey seemed to make her do wasn't going to be a theme in their interactions. At least she had put a name to the uneasy feeling she was experiencing.

It was interesting how Caffrey had stayed on the far side of her desk, never getting close or leaning in. He wasn't trying to charm her; instead he had been assessing her as she had been assessing him. The con man was smart, smarter then her in all likelihood, so he was going to catch on to any psychological tricks fast. Probably because he uses the same ones to do _his_ (former) job.

Lyn looked back at the information in front of her. The man she was beginning to build out of these files was very… different. He was full of contradictions; he wouldn't hesitate to use someone to get what he wanted but he detests hurting people. Didn't he understand that using people _is_ hurting them? Lyn shook her head. He probably didn't.

There was a knock on the door. _This _is why she didn't like the glass windows; they were just an invitation for interruption_._ A young African American man stepped into her borrowed office. He flashed her a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Hi, you're Lyn Marrow, right?" The man stepped forward to grasp the hand Lyn stuck out.

"Yes, that's me. And you are?"

"I'm Agent Jones. I work with Agent Burke and I just wanted to introduce myself."

Lie. He didn't just want to introduce himself. Lyn kept her face open, guileless, encouraging and flashed him a smile.

"Well thank you." Jones nodded and shifted from one foot to the other, obviously trying to phrase something. Lyn decided to act first. "You work with Caffrey, what do you think of him?" Jones' posture immediately changed. His shoulders hunched and he shoved his hands in his pants pockets. He was defensive. Interesting. Looks like she hit the nail on the head.

"He's a good guy." His tone was accusatory, like she had implied he was the despot of society. Lyn leaned forward.

"I can tell you like him. So does Peter. You can tell a lot about a person from the people around them. I know he's not a bad person because people keep telling me he's not and they're telling the truth when they say it. But I was hired to profile him and I have to look at everything. My intention isn't to hurt him, just to do my job."

Jones seemed to relax, his shouldered slumped and his face shifted back into friendly territory. "Then I guess I should leave you to it then." He gave her a friendly nod.

"Thanks, Jones." The friendly nod turned into a smile and she was once again alone. Or as alone as a person could be in a glass box. As illuminating as Jones' and Caffrey's visits had been the next person to burst in on her was getting a pen thrown at them.

* * *

Neal was a little surprised when not two minutes after Peter ordered him to stay put while he talked to Marrow the agent reappeared at his side looking confused and absently rubbing his forehead. Neal raised his eyebrows.

"Everything ok, Peter?"

"Yeah, I just popped in on Lyn to see how she was doing and ask her opinion on Dudley."

"And?"

"She threw a pen at me."

Neal laughed, one of his few genuine, involuntary laughs. He didn't care that Peter sent him a glare; it was funny.

"Why?"

"How the hell should I know?" Peter rolled his eyes and cuffed his charge on the arm with a folder. "C'mon, let's go."

Neal stood from his leaning position but didn't move forward. "Uh, Peter?" The man in question turned around and opened his mouth, probably threaten to throw Neal back in jail, but Neal silenced him by pointing to his own forehead. There was an ink mark where the pen had hit the FBI agent right in the center. Peter's scowl deepened.

"Damn it." Neal smirked at his partner's back as he made his way to the men's room. The con man looked up to where he knew Marrow was reading over his files.

_Interesting girl._


	4. The Calm Before the Storm

**Sorry about the delay but I wanted to publish the fourth and fifth chapters together.**

Neal studied the chessboard in front of him. He could move his knight and take out Mozzie's bishop or move his castle and create a better barrier between his queen and enemy forces.

"Are you going to make a move or should I come back later?"

Neal glanced up at his friend. "Patience, Moz." Neal sat back in his chair. "The Bureau hired a psychologist to analyze me." Neal knew that this would probably set Moz off but at the moment he needed to be distracted. There had still been no progress on The Music Box. As expected, Moz's eyes got wide and his mouth dropped open.

"E-excuse me?" Moz was actually beginning to sputter.

"Yeah, a competent one, smart." Neal tilted his head, considering the girl. "She's kind of funny too." Mozzie was having none of it.

"Oh that's great, just great, The Fascist Overlords hired some funny woman head shrink to dissect your brain. Don't take _anything_ she gives you, pills, drinks, food, you never know what she's put in them!"

"Relax, Moz, I've got this covered. Besides, I think this could be fun."

"Fun? Fun!" Mozzie's eyebrows would have disappeared into his hairline if he had a hairline. "Absolutely not! That's exactly what they want!"

Neal knew it was time to become more active in the 'calming down Moz' process. He put his hands out in a peaceful gesture.

"Really, it's fine. I just have to answer all the questions the way she wants, it's just another con."

Moz glowered at him.

"I don't trust shrinks."

"I'm starting to get that." Neal regarded the chessboard once more. "Besides, this is an opportunity to find out who's pulling the strings. Peter didn't request this and neither did Hughes. Why is the Bureau so interested in assessing me now? Mozzie, what if it has something to do with Mentor? What if it has something to with Kate?"

Mozzie leaned back in his chair and considered his friend's newest theory. Of course Neal would bring this back to Kate. He didn't trust The Suit but at this point he trusted Kate less. And he didn't trust this shrink at all. Moz considered the con in front of him, bent over slightly, eyes trained on the chess pieces, brow furrowed, and eyes that were calculating every move with lightening speed.

Neal was like a force of nature, all energy and unpredictability and fierce beauty and swept everything and everyone up along with him, you never stood a chance. But forces of nature were wild things, dangerous things and if not tempered, watched carefully, could end up destroying everything, including themselves. That's were Mozzie came in. He was the voice of reason in the gale.

He could see Neal revving up with this shrink thing. The problem with being so good at the con is that you begin to think nothing can touch you. The kid in front didn't even consider the possibility that this shrink could be better at the game than he was. To Mozzie, it looked like he was going to have to start shouting against the wind again.

"Just," the bespeckeled man sighed, "be careful."

Neal looked up from under his lashes and gave Moz his most charming smile.

"Now, where's the fun in that?" Neal moved his knight.

* * *

Lyn stretched out on the couch, finally done with every single written word ever taken down about Neal Caffrey. At least the ones taken down by the FBI. It had taken her 14 hours but she was finally _done_. Now came the interview process. With Neal Caffrey. Lyn closed her eyes and sunk further into the cushions.

"Hey, babe?" Roger's voice carried over from the kitchen and Lyn smiled. A man who cooked _and_ cleaned; she had found the perfect husband.

"Yes?"

"May I enter the living room now or is it still the property of the FBI?"

Lyn rolled her eyes at his sarcasm but her grin widened. She did love that man.

She had met Roger four years ago through a friend of a friend. He was sweet, smart, funny, and an architect. He didn't always understand her job and was a little jealous but he loved her more than anything and that was more than she needed. When he brought up the subject of marriage she didn't even blink before agreeing with him.

"Yes, Roger, you may enter the inner sanctum."

Her fiancé's 6"2', college-footballed frame plopped down and drew her feet into his lap.

"So, what's this mysterious new project that's taking up so much of your time all about?" His tone was casual but his eyes were intent on her face. He always thought he could make her tell him something by staring her down.

"Oh, I'm just profiling someone, a consultant."

Roger's eyebrows twitched inward for a second. He was not satisfied with her answer.

"C'mon, you can tell me."

Lyn nearly jumped at the phrase. Caffrey had said the exact same thing. The ex-con had poured every ounce of sex appeal he had into it, Roger's attempt to convince her seemed clumsy in comparison. And she loved him more for it.

"It's Neal Caffrey." Technically she wasn't supposed to discuss her work with the Bureau with another civilian but spouses were generally allowed to slide past that rule, as long as it wasn't anything highly classified; and Roger was almost her spouse. If she weren't so busy working out the spousal grey area she would have noticed the look of recognition on Roger's face and then the tightening of his features that signaled unhappiness.

"Caffrey? Neal Caffrey? The con man that jumped out that judge's chambers?" Wow, really not happy. Lyn gave him a wary look. There wasn't an obvious reason for his extreme reaction to her new assignment.

"Yes," she said carefully. The frown lines deepened on Roger's face.

"You hate con men."

"Yes, I do. But-" Lyn paused. She was about to say 'But Peter asked for a favor and then tossed this incredibly interesting case in front of me so how could I say no?' but she knew that bringing up Peter or her sometimes all-consuming fascination with criminal minds as reasons to go against her "code" would not sit well with the man holding her feet hostage. Roger was very into ironclad "codes of honor". It was probably a southern thing. "But it's my job."

Roger wasn't completely appeased but he sat back into the cushions and released his fiancé's feet so she could get a drink. He resigned himself to simply glare at the photo of Caffrey that was sitting on top of some files Lyn had brought home. When Lyn had told him she was a psychologist he had pictured her sitting in a tasteful office counseling people or in a lab doing research, not spending half her time running around with men who toted guns, chasing dangerous criminals. Lyn was brilliant and a fighter but she couldn't take down some meathead killer with her bare hands or analyze a bullet into not hitting her. He worried. And he wasn't all the fond of the way his redhead would jump into these cases, sometimes forgetting to take care of herself. Honestly, Roger didn't want to know what her life was like before he was there to keep order in the apartment and ply her with food. Hopefully when they were settled down and started a family she would devote more time to counseling and give up her criminal chasing ways.

The southerner refocused on the picture of the too pretty man smiling like could get away with murder. This Neal Caffrey was nothing but trouble. He could tell.

* * *

Neal stood at the foot of the stairs to June's grand foyer, the picture of elegance and patience. Looks were deceiving. Inside his head was whirring with possibilities, trying to anticipate every technique Marrow was going to throw at him and how he would counter. Balancing getting the information he wanted and giving her the information she wanted without actually divulging anything would be no simple task. He could feel the adrenaline start pumping already; which, when he looked at it objectively, was a little unnecessary. He wouldn't be scaling any walls or stealing any works of art. But Neal was fighting the urge to tap his foot or wring his hands in the anticipation of just _getting going already. _

The con man took a deep breath and reminded himself that he had no reason to be this wound up. He had this covered; he knew he did. They didn't call him a confidence man because it was cute.

Jesus, Peter should be here already.

The clicking of tasteful heels on polished floors altered Neal to his landlady's arrival. June was always dressed to the nines but never looked pretentious or out of place, something Neal admired.

"Good Morning, Neal. Waiting for Peter?" June's voice always held warmth for him. The ex-con didn't think he could ever thank her enough for everything she's done. Neal gave her a genuinely warm smile.

"Morning, June. Yes, he should be here soon."

June reached up and tugged on the lapel of his jacket and then brushed out the non-existent wrinkles and dust on his shoulders. The motions were practiced and familiar; June often fussed over his clothes when she caught him before he left for work. Neal knew she wasn't really seeing him when she did it. June looked up to inspect the angle of his hat and her eyes zeroed in on his face before taking on a mischievous quality.

"Hmmm. You're planning something."

Neal put on his patented innocent expression.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

June shook her head but her expression was filled with affection.

"Of course not, dear. You would never." Her eyes were sparkling and her mouth in a knowing smile and she and Neal shared a moment of perfect understanding that only people who have been in the game were privy to.

"Neal!" Peter half jogged to his charge's side. "June," Peter gave her a rushed but polite greeting, "sorry if I'm interrupting anything but I've got to get our boy here to the office." Peter had clamped a firm hand on Neal's shoulder at the slightly less than affectionate 'our boy' and steered the ex-con out the door. "C'mon, we're going to be late enough as it is."

Neal considered digging his heels into the sidewalk just to be difficult but he had been waiting impatiently for Peter to get here so not even annoying his partner was worth being this contrary today. And it would ruin his shoes. Once seated in the FBI issued car and headed merrily into New York traffic, Neal turned to the agent to address something else that had been bothering him.

"Peter, why did you volunteer to drive me to the office today?" Peter shifted in his seat slightly and adjusted his grip on the steering wheel. If Neal was reading Peter's signals correctly that meant he was about to be evasive.

"Because we need to talk about your session with Lyn."

Or maybe it meant he was preparing to say something he wasn't comfortable with. Neal was still learning all the subtleties of Peter's signals.

"Uh-huh."

Peter gave him a sidelong glance. He felt oddly like a father driving his troublemaker son to a new school; full of advice he knew wouldn't be headed and worried about the impression kid would make on the teachers.

"Don't try to play Lyn. I chose her because I trust her and because she's very, very good at her job. She'll be fair to you if you let her." Peter turned his head to give Neal the full force of his stern stare. "I mean it. The more evasive you are the less trustworthy she's going to think you are. And her report isn't for me or for Hughes or for anyone who is rooting for you. Remember that."

"You're rooting for me?" Neal asked playfully. Peter rolled his eyes. Typical.

* * *

Lyn stood in front of the mirror to evaluate her appearance one more time. Choosing an outfit for this interview took an embarrassingly long time. She had _finally_ decided on a tasteful green top, simple black slacks, hair left down, and no make-up; all things to make her seem wholesome, unassuming. The psychologist wanted Caffrey to be comfortable and give him as little motivation for flirting as possible.

Still, she was starting to second-guess her wardrobe decision. She felt like she was going on her first date rather than assessing a subject. Lyn threw up her hands in frustration with herself. She wasn't some love-struck teenager, she was an adult and she had already proved that she could handle a rapport with Neal Caffrey. She had read and assessed all of his documents and already had a good feeling for his game. The woman stormed out of the bathroom and into the kitchen.

"Hey, Lyn. You look nice."

Damn it, she didn't want to look _nice_. Roger must have seen her face because he immediately offered her a chocolate croissant.

"Susan dropped these off earlier."

Lyn took her offering and bit into it with gusto.

"You look like you're about to go on the war path. What's wrong?"

Lyn rolled her eyes. "I thought I looked _nice_."

Roger sighed one of his 'my dear little fiancé is being unreasonably difficult again' sighs. Lyn just sent him a glare.

"I'm fine, or I will be fine, once I get in the zone." Her statement was accompanied by moving her hands in parallel outwards, to which Roger tried to hide a smile.

"Oh right, _the zone_." Lyn's famous psycho-analytical zone; once in it, nothing can distract her from pulling apart every twitch, every change in voice pitch, every word choice until your mind is cracked wide open.

"Don't mock the zone or I'll turn it on you!"

Roger playfully wagged his finger at the still standing woman. "Ah-ah-ah. Remember, you promised when we first started dating you wouldn't over analyze me."

"Whatever." Lyn didn't care that she was turning the combination of nervousness and anticipation into undeserved aggression at her future husband. He knew that this was her way of shaking off nerves. Lyn took a deep breath and then released.

A small smirk etched its way across her face. Butterflies: gone. Confidence: present. Time to go to work.


	5. Guerilla Warfare

Lyn shifted in her cushy chair in a borrowed FBI counseling room. The room had, thankfully, solid walls and was equipped with two armchairs facing each other, only a low coffee table in the middle. The walls were a neutral, friendly tope and someone had seen fit to put plant in every corner and in front of every frosted window. Despite the comforting atmosphere Lyn thought "Eye of the Tiger" should be playing while she waited for Caffrey.

The door clicked and the devil himself sauntered in. That song immediately changed to Edwin Starr's "War". Lyn stood and offered him her hand to shake. Predictably the con man gave her a dazzling smile and took the offering.

"Good Morning, Mr. Caffrey." All of the psychology textbooks told you to use a subject's first name, and use it repeatedly to form a bond of trust. In one of Peter's notes he described a conversation between him and the con man before his incarceration where Caffrey teased Peter about the bonding tactics he was trying to use. Apparently the ex-con had read a psychology textbook or two; he would be expecting her to call him Neal. So she didn't.

"Dr. Marrow."

As they sat in their respective chairs Lyn internally winced. She was proud of her Ph. D. but she thought the title Dr. Marrow made her sound like some sort of cheesy super-villain. She saw Caffrey's eyes scan the room and then her. An eyebrow twitched in surprise when his gaze landed on her empty hands.

"No notebook or tape recorder?"

Lyn gave a small smile full of humility. "I don't need them. I have something of a photographic memory, but instead of remembering everything I see I remember everything I hear." She tilted her head to the side and gave him a slightly questioning look. "I also thought you would be more comfortable without a physical recording of what you say here."

Neal gave her a carefully polite smile. "That was nice of you." Caffrey shifted slightly. Hmmm, so he wasn't as cool and collected as he wanted to come off as, she must have hit the recordless thing on the head. "So where do we start?"

Lyn gave a little shrug. "It doesn't matter where we start. What did you have for breakfast?"

This earned her a more obvious look of surprise. "What I had for breakfast?"

"Like I said, it doesn't matter where we start."

"Just where we end."

Lyn made a non-committal gesture.

"I had fruit salad and cinnamon scones. You?"

"Chocolate croissant."

"Was it good?"

"Delicious. Did you eat with Peter?"

"No, I have breakfast at the house I'm staying in."

"Ah right, some lady named," Lyn paused, pretending to have to think about it, "June rents you a room, I believe." If Caffrey was alarmed that she knew this he didn't show it.

"Yes, she's a lovely woman."

"And you enjoy living there?"

"It has the best view."

Neal was being flippant but the slight defensiveness in his tone and the barely discernable narrowing of his eyes when he corrected Lyn's dismissal of June showed he was genuinely emotionally attached to the woman, as if the Hearts Wide Open case wasn't proof enough of that. This wasn't going to be like any other interview she had done before. Caffrey was well schooled in projecting only what he wanted the world to see; she was going to have to rely on minutia to interpret his true meanings. This was going to get very irritating or very interesting very quickly.

* * *

Peter was sitting at his desk tapping his pencil on the case file he was supposed to be looking over. He just couldn't concentrate while he had thrown his friend to the wolves. Except he wasn't sure which friend was being thrown and which was the wolves. He could imagine Lyn and Neal just sitting across from each other, both with polite smiles plastered on their faces, talking about nothing and both fervently interpreting every move and sentence like it held the secrets to the Holy Grail.

Peter let go of the pencil and tiredly rubbed his face with his hands. Dear God, they were going to tear each other apart.

* * *

Neal had to admit, he was surprised. He was sure that she would call him by his first name, just like all the books tell you to. And starting out with his breakfast menu? What was this girl up to? This girl with her unpainted face and her stylish yet 'move it along, nothing to see here' outfit.

"Peter caught you twice and shortly after your second incarceration you were released into his custody."

"True."

"How is that working out for you?"

Neal gave her a friendly smile. Give her empty answers; saying nothing with a lot of words can often get you out of corners. "It's challenging. I like the work, it's never boring. Though the two mile radius puts a dampening on my social calendar." His attempt at lighthearted half-facts didn't seem to affect her.

"And you like working with Peter."

That one wasn't a question.

"I do. He's a smart guy. The only person smart enough to catch me."

"Twice." Her mouth was tilted upwards and there was genuine humor in her eyes. He returned it.

"Twice."

"So you respect him, at least a little, for catching you."

Neal smirked. Smart girl.

"Yeah, but don't tell him that." This wasn't anything everyone didn't already know, it didn't matter that he admitted it.

"And you like him."

Neal wondered what she would think if he lied and said no.

"He cares about you," she added during his slight pause. Neal was about to open his mouth to be evasive again but Marrow was looking at him with wide, expectant eyes and he was struck with an irrational need to please her.

"He took a chance on me, got me out of prison. We make a good team."

* * *

Hughes stood at the front of his office observing the White Collar division below him. He did this often, just watching his people work for a few minutes before diving back into the inane and never ending paperwork that came with being the head of anything. He had good teams and then the best team; Peter, Jones, and the probie Cruiz.

And then there was Caffrey. The ex-con was slippery but he was an extremely valuable asset to the White Collar division and at his core, a good kid. He produced results, fantastic results; the means were a bit unconventional but they worked so who was Hughes to complain? And if anyone could handle Caffrey it was Peter. As far as Hughes saw it while Peter was around to direct the kid's wild brilliance in a more lawful direction he didn't worry about Caffrey all that much.

His bosses didn't seem to share his philosophy. So his expert consultant was in 'therapy' with Dr. Lyn Marrow. He had officially met the young woman when Peter had brought her in after she took the job. Marrow was sharp, he knew this from the cases she had worked with the Bureau before, but that meeting with Peter was the first time he had spent any time with her. If Caffrey did have compelling reasons to run or break his contract with the FBI in any way, Hughes wanted to know. But he didn't want to _give_ the kid any reasons. This felt more like an attack than a standard profile request.

The senior agent sighed. His few minutes were up. He had to go back to work and trust Caffrey to take care of himself.

* * *

So far Caffrey had not flirted or tried to play any mind games with her. And their seated positions and the barrier of the coffee table stopped him from using his physicality against her. And at this point she figured he was trying to understand her game and planning his own accordingly. At least that's what it seemed like. But she was preparing for a curveball. So far she had been keeping it rather light, not talking about jail or Kate Moreau. He had been slowly opening up and she didn't want him to clam up even tighter than before.

She had briefly talked about the heists he pulled and the forgeries he created before his capture mostly to see how he viewed them now that the ex-con had seen the other side. The con artist had preened and puffed up like a peacock at the mention of his "accomplishments". No guilt or remorse. He either refused or simply couldn't make the connection between the destruction he had seen white-collar crimes do while working for the FBI and the destruction _his_ crimes had done. If it were any other man Lyn would say he was delusional and she wasn't completely sure Caffrey wasn't.

But there wasn't any malice in his expression or tone. Caffrey didn't want to _hurt _people, just outsmart them. And he clearly liked the attention; the man had lit up like a Christmas tree when she paid tribute to his former vocation after all.

If Lyn weren't working at keeping an open, unassuming expression she would have sighed. She didn't really _want_ to talk about Kate Moreau but Caffrey had broken out of super-max to chase after her and a large part of why she was here was to assess his flight risk. This wasn't therapy where talking about Moreau would help her understand how to heal Caffrey or be cathartic for the criminal; no, this would just hurt. But he was already in a good mood and if she had any chance of completing her job she better rip the proverbial band-aid off now.

"Mr. Caffrey," she started off in her most soothing voice, "what happened, when you broke out of prison to find Kate Moreau?" The changes in Caffrey were immediate and drastic. She saw a myriad of emotions cross his face, so complicated and over so quick that she could barely discern them before Caffrey closed up shop. There had definitely been frustration and very acute pain but now his expression was smooth and inviting. An untrained person would have been fooled by the mask Caffrey had dawned, but after seeing bits and pieces of real emotion from her subject the mask contrasted sharply.

Lyn would have uttered an 'uh-oh' if she wasn't trying to figure out his next move. But by the knowing and somewhat predatory look in the con man's eyes her face had said it for her. So much for keeping up an open and unassuming expression.

Caffrey gave a little casual shrug and followed with a lovely smile.

"What can I say, I'm a romantic." His eyes flickered down to her left hand and the predatory gleam flared for a second before being pushed back down behind charming and enticing. Lyn knew this wasn't going to be pretty. "Speaking of, congratulations on your engagement."

"Thank you." Good, her voice hadn't sounded defensive.

"You weren't wearing that lovely ring when we first met. Do you usually go around with out it?"

Lyn repressed a frown. She didn't like remembering their first encounter.

"No. I just got off a trans-Atlantic flight when Peter called me in. I was tired and forgot about it."

Caffrey smiled a slow, snake-oil smile. "You find yourself forgetting about your fiancé often?" There was nothing explicitly suggestive about the statement but Lyn felt the sexual overtones glide over her skin like a caress. She had underestimated what this con man could do when he turned his full attention to trying to seduce someone. Which was a stupid thing to do after reading about the things he had gotten good people to do with this technique alone.

* * *

This experience hadn't been as bad as Neal expected. It really was rather fun. It didn't feel like she was being invasive, just curious, which was probably a trick but interesting to watch. Marrow was easy to talk to, another trick of the trade, he was sure. She wasn't condescending or disapproving when she wanted to talk about some of his cons and well, he never could resist showing off a bit. The girl was good, very good, he had found himself relaxing, being less evasive and not really caring. But then she had brought up Kate and he remembered why the psychologist was here. Jeeze, the redhead was better than he thought if he had forgotten why they were even sitting in that obnoxiously neutral room.

It was time to get back on track. Simple charm and friendliness didn't seem to work well on her, he had to go with what he _knew_ affected her cool. And maybe he was feeling a little vindictive after the shot at Kate.

So he took a shot at her engagement, at her initial reaction to his "thrall" and laced his last question with enough suggestion and invitation to make lesser women fall over. Marrow was not a lesser woman but she was human. Neal watched in satisfaction as her fingers twitched in the impulse to clench and her nostrils flared to take a deeper breath and her throat constricted as she swallowed.

But his victory was short lived. Her eyes, which were momentarily glassy turned hard and cold. Neal's mind worked at lightening speeds to process this unexpected emotion. The only thing he could think of was she was counteracting his heavy charm. She was already affected, she couldn't go back to neutral but she could redirect the emotion and the closest one was anger.

"Never." Her voice was final and controlled and filled with challenge- 'Anytime, anyplace, Caffrey.' And he was really, _really_ tempted to take her up on that offer. She slipped on a smile just as conniving as his own. Therapy was done; neither of them was going to be able to retreat now. They were too similar in that regard: too capable of faking emotion and too capable of reading it.

They exchanged pleasantries and she thanked him for his time and Neal found himself being dismissed. He had been wrong before; she was no girl.

* * *

Cruiz and Jones exchanged wary looks outside of their boss' office. Peter had been growly all morning, something that usually leads to one of his famous 'moods'. And neither of them wanted to be the subject of that.

"Hey guys." Neal's friendly greeting bounded up the steps along with him. The pair of agents was immediately relieved. Neal would handle Peter. Or make it worse, you never could tell which it would be.

"Hey, Neal," Jones greeted him with a friendly smile of his own. "Peter's in his office." He gave the likeable ex-con an encouraging pat on the shoulder before retreating back to the relative safety of his desk.

"Yeah, have fun!" Cruiz pushed the stack of files she was holding at her favorite adversary and followed Jones' example.

Peter was bent over his desk furiously scribbling at the paper in front of him, trying to establish a sensible pattern in these credit card frauds. The sound of the door opening without a preceding knock told him it could only be one person. Even Hughes knocked before entering. The agent resisted the urge to snap his head up in lieu of looking too eager.  
"Neal," the older man greeted. He finished his sentence before slowly raising his head to regard his friend. "How did it go?" The young man in question dropped the files down on the desk before settling himself in a chair and propping his feet up on Peter's desk. Peter frowned at him but Neal wouldn't be deterred.

"It…" Peter got a little nervous whenever Neal paused like that; it usually meant he was trying to hide something and then Peter was going to have to do all this extra work to figure out exactly what the kid was being evasive about when he should have just said so in the beginning. "…wasn't what I expected."

Peter's eyebrows raised in surprise. The answer wasn't smart-ass enough to be an evasion.

"She's interesting." Neal was contemplative. Peter wasn't sure he liked a contemplative Neal.

"Interesting?'

"Yeah." Peter's charge shifted his gaze from unfocused in the distance to meet the agents. He gave a small half smile half smirk. "I'm working on it."


	6. Analyze This

"So, how did it go?" Moz's natural arch mocking tone was the first thing that greeted Neal as he entered his suite. Neal didn't even pause his entry into his living quarters. He didn't really feel like trying to explain it again so soon. He was hoping he would have some time alone to review, analyze and plan. No such luck. But when a con was going in an unexpected direction too quickly to change course you had to go with it, make it up as you went along and hope for a reprieve.

"Fine."

Moz gave the con man his most skeptical look.

"Fine? That's awfully descriptive." The shorter man was by Neal's side quicker than many people thought he could move. Out of thin air Mozzie produced a small flashlight. "Ok, now open your eyes wide…" Neal brushed Moz's hands away and backed up.

"Jesus, Moz, I'm not drugged!" Neal turned away and moved to sit on the couch. "Would you stop with that?!" Neal let out an exasperated breath and sunk into the cushions.

Moz threw up his hands in defeat and mirrored Neal's actions. "Fine, have it your way." Neal could feel Mozzie's gaze bore into the side of his face. "So, did you find anything out about Mentor? Kate?"

Neal was about to open his mouth to respond but found that he had nothing to say. Neal felt that sensation come over him when he finally put all the pieces of a case together, like a veil had been lifted and he could see clearly. It was probably the subsequent humorless laughter pouring out that made Mozzie whip out the flashlight again. He hadn't gotten any information at all. And he hadn't even thought about it until Moz mentioned it.

"Moz, get that thing out of my face. And no, I didn't get anything out of her. She mentioned Kate and I got defensive and then she closed up shop."

"Defensive? You mean you went on the offensive."

"Yeah, and she knew it." Neal shook his head and pursed his mouth. "She got me relaxed and focused on her, I-" Neal trailed off, unsettled.

Mozzie shook his head. On the one hand this FBI shrink had gotten him to, if temporarily, stop obsessing about the questionable Kate; on the other she was an FBI shrink. A funny woman FBI shrink.

"She knew I was beginning a move and she stopped the session." Neal was glad Peter wasn't here. He'd say Neal was pouting and to 'cowboy up'. Neal _was not_ pouting. He wasn't. Really. "Peter warned me about that." When Peter was right where Neal was wrong the con man didn't really mind. He had learned to respect Peter's intelligence long ago. He just really didn't like being this slow catching up with his handler. Or admitting it, especially to Mozzie. His bespeckled friend would probably find some convoluted way to connect it to Marrow drugging him. And shine that flashlight in his face again.

"The Suit warning you against the shrink? Psht. I don't think so."

Neal rolled his eyes at Moz's incessant paranoia. Normally it was entertaining, could even be helpful but Neal just wanted his reprieve already.

* * *

Peter was trying to concentrate on what Elizabeth was saying, he really was, but most of his brain was occupied with trying to analyze Neal's reaction to Lyn. The woman in question had managed to slip out of the building before he could confront her and the day had been too busy to track her down. What the hell did Caffrey mean '_she's interesting'_? After three years of studying Neal Peter felt he had a fairly secure grasp on the kid's process. And the word 'interesting' coming out of Neal Caffrey's mouth generally lead to sleepless nights, migraines, and marital problems for Peter. So if he could figure this out early in the game there was a good chance he could bypass all three.

Or by the look on Elizabeth's face, the I-just-said-something-completely-insane-to-see-if-you-are-paying-attention-and-you-failed look, he could at least skip the first two. Well, just the first one. Or not, he might be banished to the couch.

"El, I am so sorr-" Peter was silenced by his wife raising a warning hand.

"Peter, don't. Just tell me what's wrong with Neal."

"Wha- what makes you think this is about Neal?' Why was he trying to backpedal now? Did he _really_ think it would work? El gave him a stern look.

"Because I know you even better than you know him."

Peter took a deep breath and fixed his lovely wife with a hopefully sympathetic inducing expression. He had seen Neal do it a thousand times, he was pretty sure he could mimic it effectively.

"Lyn interviewed him today and I have no idea how it went. All I got out of Neal was a 'she's interesting' and interesting and Neal don't always play well together." Elizabeth tilted her head in agreement.

"Well what do you think it means?"

The FBI agent sighed. "That he didn't listen to my advice. Again. And he's trying to find a game strategy to play against Lyn because she surprised him and by the amount of thought he was putting into it probably challenged him." Peter ran a hand over his face and then into his cropped hair. "I told him Lyn would be fair to him if he didn't try to con her and- damn it! Doesn't he _ever_ think about the consequences of his actions?!"

El leaned into him and placed a comforting hand on his arm. Either his sympathy look worked or his wife just pitied him.

"Peter, the only thing you can do is wait." Elizabeth looked away thoughtfully for a second and then gave a slow, small smile, the smile that made Peter think that if she wanted, El could have been a very effective criminal. "You're just going to have to think about something else." Peter waited for a suggestion. "Well," the brunette women stood, "I'm going upstairs, getting in bed."

Was his wife _sauntering_ up the stairs? Peter looked at his watch. His brow furrowed; it was only 8 o'clock. The FBI agent sat on the couch in a slight dazed confusion and then: Oh. Peter might have reflected on the discrepancy between his proficiency at his job and inability to read his wife if he wasn't so busy rushing up the stairs and tugging at his tie.

* * *

To Lyn, this was a bad idea. Her official report was only half way written and sitting on her computer at home. She had tried telling Agent Hughes this on the phone but he insisted that she come in and give her initial findings verbally anyways. And so, to Lyn, this was a bad idea. In the tight pressure of a man hunt or an interrogation there was an intense focus- what's his next move, how do we make him talk- and she felt comfortable giving advice on the fly. But during a more broad profile she liked to have things written out first to focus her to she could be dispassionate and analytical when she presented her findings. Right now her analysis mostly jumbled, hyper energized thoughts, she hadn't been allowed the time to lay them out and put them in order. She would also liked to have more time interviewing Caffrey one on one.

And yet here she was, waiting in Hughes' office with Peter for his boss to come out of whatever super-secret meeting he was in. Peter was constantly shifting in his seat and he kept glancing at her but not saying anything. His nerves were acting up her nerves and she _really_ didn't need that right now. Lyn wondered if telling him to 'spit it out already' would be too rude for this early in the morning.

The redhead tried to stifle a yawn. She and Roger hadn't gotten much sleep. She had been hyped up on her interview and subsequent mental labor; it had _absolutely nothing_ to do with Caffrey's parting shot at her, and had immediately jumped Roger when he came home. Later, much later, she had confessed her motivations to him and her fiancé and feigned hurt at being so "used". Which then lead to playfulness, which then lead to her being in her unideal profiling state.

The door opening behind her and her currently irritating companion cutting off her thought process. Both Lyn and Peter stood as Hughes entered followed by another agent.

"Agent Burke, Dr. Marrow, this is Agent Samson from OPR."

Lyn watched Peter's eyes narrow and his hands slide to his hips, one hand near his firearm. It was a meta-expression of aggression. By Hughes' more dominant stance and tone towards Agent Samson it was clear this man was not an equal but lower on the hierarchy of agents. So Peter's aggression was probably not directed at the agent as a person but at OPR.

"What is OPR doing here?" If humans were capable of spitting sparks Peter would be doing so right now. Agent Samson turned his body slightly towards Peter but didn't entirely face him and rolled his shoulders back while tilting his chin upwards slightly. Apparently the OPR agent thought he was equal if not better than Peter.

"I was ordered here and that's all you need to know." The man's entire attitude could only be described as a sneer and Lyn immediately disliked him. She decided to just call him 'The OPR Lackey".

"Peter," Hughes voice was authoritative, "let's just sit and listen to what Dr. Marrow has to say." Peter followed orders but the tension in his body didn't dissipate.

Because there were only two guest chairs The OPR Lackey just leaned on a low table to Lyn's left. Lyn didn't feel comfortable not having The OPR Lackey in her line of sight. She couldn't analyze exactly why she felt this way because now she had to concentrate on Caffrey if she wanted to come off as competent. She took as deep as a breath as she could through her nose as to not alert anyone of her state of mind. Lyn mentally scanned the information she had and decided it was best to start at the beginning.

"Neal Caffrey is very smart. His IQ is probably around genius level if anyone bothers to test him. I've poured over his school transcripts and his grades are exemplary. But all the comments teachers attached to them say that he is essentially the class clown, pulling pranks, telling jokes in the middle of a lesson, using attention grabbers like that. However he has never been expelled, suspended, or was ever sent to detention. The schools let his antics slide. And that's where it all started."

Hughes raised an eyebrow. Apparently he thought she was over analyzing things.

"It's where his whole sense of entitlement starts. It was implied to him at an early age that if you are smart enough, clever enough you could do anything you want. The older he got and the bigger he went the more firmly that idea planted in his head. Because he always got away with it. To him if he can outsmart a person, a security system, whatever, then he deserves to have their money or artwork or whatever his goal is; it's he reward. In Caffrey's version of reality he's done nothing wrong."

The Lackey scoffed. Lyn would have sent him a dirty look but she was concentrating on making all of this make sense.

"Most criminals age out at around 18 or so. They begin to get jobs, start families and the like; they begin to accumulate things that they don't want to loose. Caffrey bypasses this by making his job and, well not family but support system part of his criminal activities."

"So what? He's hopeless?" Hughes did not sound pleased. Lyn knew she had to resolve this quickly or it might spiral out of control, especially with The Lackey in the room.

"No, absolutely not. He may never think in conventional terms like you or Agent Burke do, which isn't really a bad thing as it's part of why his closing rates on cases is so high, but he _can_ live a law-abiding life." Mostly. Probably.

She could feel the approval radiating off of Peter and it boosted her mood.

"Oh?" It was the overt mocking in The OPR Lackey's tone that probably made Hughes shoot him a warning look. Lyn didn't even pay him any mind but just continued.

"He's attached to the people here, much more attached than he'll admit, even to himself. But he is connecting with people outside of the criminal world, which is a very good sign."

"Well what did he say? Specifics."

Lyn turned her focus to The Lackey and gave him her best stonewall expression.

"Sorry, I can't tell you that."

"Excuse me?" The Lackey had definitely not been expecting that response. "You were hired to interview him and report back to us."

"No, I was hired to give you my analysis of him. Which I am. Specifics are protected by patient/doctor privilege." Ooooo, Lackey was _not_ happy. "Besides, I don't have any of this recorded, so you couldn't get your hands on the specifics even if it wasn't protected."

"Then how do we know he hasn't conned you too? That you're just saying what he wants you to say because he flashed you a pretty smile."

"Samson!" Hughes' tone was fierce and the Lackey agent immediately backed down. The senior agent turned to Lyn. "While all of this is very illuminating we should probably address the Bureau's main concerns." Lyn read the expression on Hughes' face as: "so OPR can get the hell out of my office." The psychologist was happy to comply.

"Alright. There is no indication that Neal Caffrey has any agenda to sabotage the FBI. He does not hate the FBI. In fact the person he seems to have connected most strongly with is Agent Burke."

"And what are his chances of running?"

Lyn sighed softly and leaned back in her chair. Peter was not going to like this but she had been hired because she could be fair and impartial.

"If Caffrey feels that the trust built up between him and Agent Burke has been violated he will most likely run. Kate Moreau is also a factor, a large factor in whether or not he would escape custody. All I know is that if his attachment to her supercedes his attachment to his new life then he will run at the opportunity to be with her." Lyn chanced a look at Peter. His shoulders were slumped but his face was determined. He agreed with her assessment but was resolute in his quest to change the con man. For the sake of the agent Lyn hoped that attitude never faltered.

"Well, I think that should satisfy OPR." Lyn seriously doubted it but she wasn't going to argue with Hughes, though The Lackey looked like he wanted to. "Agent Samson." The dismissal in Hughes voice was only amplified when he nodded to the door. The Lackey shot Peter a parting sneer before exiting the room.

* * *

Peter felt that for all of Neal's games and manipulations Lyn had still given him a fair deal. The agent suppressed the urge to slump in his seat in relief; this could have been much worse.

"I have to say Dr. Marrow, I'm impressed. All of that in two days." Peter's boss' reservations about Lyn seemed to have evaporated. Which was, to Peter, a go ahead sign for his next move.

"Thank you, Agent Hughes, but honestly most of that was just reiteration of what Peter already found. I only had time to make initial findings on my own." It was times like this, when Lyn would rather be correct than receive praise, that reminded Peter of why, if having a shrink around at all, he wanted it to be her.

"Still, it was impressive. Which is why I'm giving Peter to go ahead on this one." Hughes nodded at him and Peter focused all of his attention on drawing Lyn in.

"I want you to work for White Collar."

"What?" Lyn went from impressive professional to indignant teenager in 2.5 seconds. Peter glanced back at Hughes to see his reaction to Lyn's change in demeanor but the senior agent seemed more amused than anything.

"Maybe to two of you should discuss this further in your office."

"Yes sir." Peter got up and steered the woman out of his boss' office before she could do any damage. When in the relative safety of his own office space, thank God Caffrey was at his own desk in the bullpen, he let go of her.

"Peter-" Lyn's voice was full of warning.

"Listen to my proposal first." It was probably only Lyn's professional respect for him that stopped her from snapping. "It's a six month contract with the FBI, you would be on my team helping with investigations." Lyn was not fooled.

"The FBI already has profilers, Peter. _Use them_." The woman gave a tired sigh and he let her continue. "As interesting and intriguing as all of this has been and as much as I would have liked to have more time interviewing Caffrey-"

"And I'm giving you that opportunity."

"No, you're trying to use me to help you keep Caffrey in line. I'm not a babysitter, Peter." Yeah, Peter liked Lyn a lot but he resented her implying that babysitting was _his_ job. So he let it show and was satisfied when she shifted uncomfortably.

"This isn't just about Neal, Lyn. We could use a second expert on criminal psychology- a _civilian_ expert," Peter amended when she was about to point out he already had a criminal for that. "The word about Neal is spreading through the underground, it would be better if we had a profiler who wouldn't arouse suspicion. And you like working here. We both know it. And we both know you saw that Neal is a good guy." Lyn relaxed and rolled her eyes at Peter's ending lighter expression.

"Oh don't get me wrong, Peter. I think he's an immature narcissist whose skewed idea of right and wrong border on psychosis. But he's not a monster." Lyn closed her eyes for a second and her muscled seemed to relax under her skin, which Peter took as a good sign. "I need to talk it over with Roger, my fiancé, I'll get back to you."

Peter gave her a smile. "Yes, yes, this is good. Go." He began to herd her towards the door but she was laughing lightly so he knew she didn't mind.

"Fine, fine, don't be so pushy. Bye, Peter."

The agent sat leisurely in his chair, hands behind his head and feet kicked out. For once everything was going in the direction he wanted. Which usually was a sign that things were going to derail horribly soon but Peter decided to just bask in the moment. Until, of course the inevitable happened and the master of derailment, Neal Caffrey, poked his head through the door.

* * *

Neal was starting to get edgy. He has seen Peter and Marrow go into Hughes' office and then Hughes and some agent he didn't know follow. The unknown agent left in a huff so that was either a very good sign or a very bad one. Then Marrow was practically dragged to Peter's office by the man himself and he didn't know what to make of that. He wished the walls weren't made of glass; it made covert eavesdropping almost impossible.

When Neal saw the redhead leave Peter's office he ducked his head down and pretended to work while reaching out with his peripherals to see if she was going to walk by his desk. Ah, she was. And she was slowing down to talk to him.

"Good morning, Mr. Caffrey." Neal took a second to marvel at her ability to maintain dignity in the face of someone who damaged it. Neal stood and let his face slip into his reflexive charming smile.

"Morning. What was that all about?" Neal nodded towards the upper floor. Marrow tilted her head slightly and a slow, toothless smile appeared.

"You."

Neal's eyebrows shot up. Was she _flirting_ with him? His smile got wider.

"Oh, what about me?" Neal perched sideways on his desk leaned forward over the table top. The toothless smile was suddenly filled with pearly whites.

"Sorry, can't say." Her tone was perky and had a triumphant lit to it that echoed 'ha-ha'. "You might have better luck with Peter though." Neal reflexively glanced at the agent's office door and when he looked back the slippery woman was sailing out the department doors. So that was a 'no' on the flirting then.

Well, might as well see if the little tease was right; it's not like he actually _wanted_ to sit still and do paperwork.

"Hey partner, how did it go?" Neal watched Peter go from lounging to alert, preparing for anything the con man might throw at him. It could be irritating sometimes how well matched he and Peter were.

"Well you didn't screw yourself over." Uh-oh, Peter was using that half irritated half disappointed voice that always made Neal internally squirm. It made him feel all of 10 years old with scraped knees and dirt on his face when he was supposed to stay clean for Sunday mass.

But Neal played it off, like he always does. "Good to know." The younger man sat in his usual chair and leaned his elbows on the desk, the picture of attentiveness. "So what did she say about me?"

Peter rolled his eyes and began to flip through some of the papers on his desk. He didn't even look up as he spoke. "She called you a narcissist." The agent tried to hide his satisfied smirk at Neal's less than happy expression but the ex-con saw it anyways.

So that was a 'hell no' on the flirting.


	7. Love is a Many Splendid Thing

**Just so lull and waves knows, their e-mail didn't show up in their review or else I would have written them.**

Lyn didn't cook often. It was ironically out of respect of her fiancé. When she cooked the kitchen tended to explode in a multitude of, according to said fiancé, unnecessary plates, bowls, utensils, pans and so forth, all of them used and in need of washing and bits of ingredients strewn everywhere. The first time Roger came home while she decided to make dinner he, well, his accent got so thick she began to giggle which didn't help the situation at all. It was one of his quirks; he like things neat and ordered and he couldn't understand how someone so "willowy" and "delicate" could make so much chaos. To her relief he decided it was endearing.

But tonight she decided to break tradition and break out the kitchenware. She would just have to clean as she cooked. Ulch. Cleaning was _not_ on her list of things she even moderately tolerated. But Roger was on the top of the list of things she loved with great intensity so she got over it.

Her brilliant plan to cook and clean for her future husband to soften him up was rudely interrupted by the man himself. Damn it, he was early.

"Hey, honey. Mmmm, that smells nice." Lyn heard the heavy, male footsteps stop before they entered the kitchen. The woman winced. "Ok, what did you do?" His voice was duly suspicious but when Lyn poked her head through the cut out she put on a hurt expression.

"What makes you think I did anything?" Roger ignored her and began to inspect the apartment.

"Did you _clean_? Dear god, Lyn, did you _kill_ someone?"

Lyn's jaw dropped. "_Roger_!"

The aforementioned man threw up his hands in peace.

"What? You have to admit, it's suspicious."

Lyn rolled her eyes and decided to just tell him about the job, her buttering up plan had been effectively ruined.

"I was offered a six month contract with the FBI's White Collar division. I'd be working with Peter and his team."

Roger's eyebrows knit and he frowned. "I don't like you working there, it's dangerous."

Lyn suppressed the urge to roll her eyes. "Please, this is the White Collar division. I'll be profiling art snobs and rogue accountants." Actually, much more of Peter's cases involved gunfire than she had expected but her fiancé didn't need to know that.

"And what about the mysterious Peter? I've never met him. How am I supposed to entrust you to him if I don't know him?"

_Entrust her to him?_ Lyn shook her head. This was not the time for a semantics battle. "God, Peter's not mysterious! You want to meet him? I'll send him an invitation to the wedding, you can meet him then."

"And this con man?" Lyn watched her fiancé roll his shoulders backwards, like he was trying to hide a much more telling physical reaction. "I don't have a good feeling about him. And you and him." If Lyn were a violent person she would have thrown the pan resting next to her hand at him. But she wasn't, and she reminded herself that she loved all of the blonde architect, even his irrational jealousy. Oh, and was he _ever_ irrationally jealous.

"I will never fall in love with Neal Caffrey." She could want him, given that he catches her off guard, hell, after enough time she could probably like him, but Lyn would never love him.

Roger must have seen the conviction in her face and heard it in her voice because his southern traditionalist hackles smoothed down and he immediately looked guilty. He stepped forward and placed his hands on her upper arms and touched his forehead to hers.

"God, Lyn, I'm sorry. I know you are more than capable of doing this job and I trust you implicitly but I can't stand the idea of anything happening to you, of you running around with men I don't know and don't trust- I don't care if that upsets your wacky feminist views, it's how I feel."

Lyn tipped her head to give her lover, her friend, her fiancé a kiss.

"I know. I love you too."

With a low sigh Roger let go of her.

"I'll finish dinner, you can relax."

The tall man took to the kitchen and Lyn sat wearily on the couch. Fighting with Roger either fired her up for days or completely wiped her out. Looks like today was the latter. The redhead thought about what she had said about Caffrey to Roger and found now that she had calmed that it was still true.

Lyn was a settle down and have a couple of kids kind of girl. And you can't do either of those things with someone who was still a child. Caffrey was selfish and arrogant and narcissistic and ignorant of the consequences of his actions. He was also brilliant and sometimes downright heroic but he was far from a fully formed adult. For such a complex person, his psychological make-up was relatively simple. All it took was a little child psychology.

* * *

It was one of those rare nights where Peter was home on time and he resisted his compulsion to bring work with him. They were lounging on the couch, El resting on top of her beloved husband, back to chest; El didn't even care that Peter was yelling at the referees on television. He was absently rubbing his thumb in circles on her stomach and El melted a little more.

Everything would be perfect except for the fact she had been married to Peter too long. Not in the 'bud fell off the stem' kind of way, but in the 'becoming the same person' kind of way. The contentment was beginning to ebb away and El couldn't believe she actually missed hearing about the FBI at a time like this. But what had started out as a wonderful evening was slowly being ruined by the niggling need to know what had happened with Neal's evaluation. But El didn't want to ruin the moment so she stayed quiet, hoping that the compulsion to investigate would leave as suddenly as it had come.

Five minutes later it had intensified to the point El began to fidget in her unreasonably comfortable position. The thumb stopped its ministrations.

"El? You ok?" Peter's voice was slow and had a hint of teasing in it so she playfully elbowed him.

"I'm fine."

"El." His voice was knowing. Damn, the one time she _wanted_ her husband to be oblivious. The woman felt his chest start to rumble in quiet laughter beneath her. "You want to know what Lyn said about Neal, don't you?"

El gave a dramatic sigh. "It's killing me." The quiet rumbling turned into full laughter. El knocked her head back on his chest to show her annoyance. "It's not funny!"

"No, of course it's not." El didn't think he sounded even remotely serious. Peter picked up the remote and muted the game. "It was a fair evaluation. Basically Neal's biggest issue is his sense of entitlement and he'd run given a good enough opportunity to be with Kate. But she thinks he can be rehabilitated." Peter chuckled.

"What's so funny?"

"It's just how Lyn described Neal when we were alone."

"And to think you were worried." El knew she probably spoke too soon but her curiosity had been sated and she didn't want to disrupt this precious alone time with her husband again. So she settled back for some quiet contemplation.

The woman considered Neal and sighed internally. Honestly, she worried about that boy. He was so dead set on finding Kate that El was afraid he would just bolt one day and break poor Peter's heart. Her husband had been afraid of bringing her and the loveable con man together out of fear that she would get too attached but El thought Peter should have been more concerned about himself. Under the strict, professional duties of being Neal's handler Peter had the biggest paternal soft spot for the younger man. After the glow of victory the guilty charge for bond forgery had faded from Peter's eyes El had seen clear as day that Peter honestly didn't like the idea of someone with so much _potential_, someone who under different circumstances would have been a friend was locked up for four years. Peter was a lawman to the core and believed that Neal should be punished for his crimes, but he had looked so frustrated and sad when he told El "that stupid, brilliant kid is ruining his life".

Maybe with Lyn's backup Peter would feel more secure about Neal. Poor baby, that con man isn't going to know what hit him. That is of course, if Peter was right and Lyn and Neal together wasn't anything to worry about. But El had a feeling it was about to get very interesting in the White Collar offices. Well, _more_ interesting.

* * *

The first time Neal had seen Elizabeth Burke was in her and Peter's wedding announcement. When Peter had first stared pursuing him the con man was determined to learn just as much about the fed as the fed was learning about him. In one of his research session he had stumbled over a very nice color picture of Peter and his then bride to be. His first thought was that he and Peter had very similar tastes in women. Elizabeth could have been Kate's sister. He studied the picture a little longer and he could see that they were both insanely happy and equally insanely in love.

They had been married barely three years before Peter had been assigned his case and Neal knew that he was keeping the federal officer away from his fledgling marriage and lovely wife. The picture of the two of them in the newspaper popped up every once and a while in his mind's eye and Neal always felt an inexplicable stab of guilt. He had been planning on sending Elizabeth two dozen roses with a 'My Sincerest Apologies' card but Peter had gotten too close to him and Kate too fast and he never had time to put the plan in motion.

Neal had found himself comparing his and Kate's relationship against that beautiful photograph. Were they just as happy as the image the FBI agent and his wife presented? Were they just as in love? Neal was. Neal _loved_ Kate. Neal _worshiped_ Kate. Kate was his ideal, his fantasy, his soul mate. Their love was every passion filled word prose and poetry, every bold color and brushstroke, every glimmer and shine of every jewel. At least that's how Neal remembered it. But the fervor he felt in his search for his lost love told him that it wasn't a figment of his wild imagination, that it had been real, tangible, he just needed to _find her_ and _touch her_ again. He had spent almost four years straining to penetrate that half inch of plastic the separated their hands as they reached for each other. He had never succeeded. He would succeed now.

Honestly, Neal had expected Peter to be more sympathetic to his quest to find Kate. After all, Peter and Elizabeth's marriage had been his standard for love for the past seven years; surely the FBI agent knew what it was like to love with this kind of intensity. Instead Neal had found an ally in Peter's wife. After officially meeting the woman Neal could not figure out how his handler had ever convinced her to marry him but the con man was eternally grateful that he had. Elizabeth was classy, friendly, generous and perfectly willing to undermine her husband's authority. Kate would have adored her.

A soft knock on the door interrupted his somewhat angst-ridden thoughts. Only one person would knock so politely at this time of night. June's warm and smiling face at his doorway confirmed his thoughts. His landlady and pseudo caretaker was holding a tray of what smelled like hot chocolate and- were those chocolate chip cookies? God, if June kept this up he would never be able to leave.

"Good evening, dear. I couldn't sleep and saw your light."

Neal let a genuine smile show and stepped aside to let the lady in.

"You're always welcome, June. It is your house."

The two socialites, well one socialite and one ex-convict particularly good at pretending to be a socialite, sat at the table.

"No Harvesham tonight?"

"No, not tonight." Neal bit into a cookie- heavenly, just like they smelled- and then perched his chin on his hand, fixing the older, elegant lady with a lazy grin. "Tell me about how you and Byron met." June twittered and covered it up with a sip of hot chocolate.

"Oh, you don't want to hear about that."

Neal put on a mock offended expression, his hand to his heart and June laughed softly.

"Why, June, why would you deny me what is undoubtedly a wonderfully romantic story?" This elicited another laugh from his landlady, louder this time so Neal knew she would give in.

"Well, I was actually dating someone else at the time. His name was Jeremy Craven, a very nice man. He had taken me to this very swank dance club in the city. He had heard that Sinatra and his pack of friends frequented the place and wanted to impress me. I loved to dance and wasn't all that concerned with who was there or not." June let out a soft, delighted chuckle. "I was barely twenty. I just wanted to get on the floor. Well if Jeremy had one fault it was that he didn't have much stamina."

Neal wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively and June swatted at him with one of the cloth napkins on the tray. "On the dance floor! Don't be fresh. Anyways, Jeremy and I were sitting at a table and this beautiful man saunters over from across the room and asks me to dance. I was a bit confused when Jermyn didn't put up a fight at all but then I saw he had come over from Sinatra's table and, well, Jeremy was a fan. Oh, Byron was a wonderful dancer. After the very first song he looked me straight in the eye and said: "Your boyfriend is going to be so sorry he let me dance with you; I plan on stealing you away from him." The older woman shook her head. "I laughed at him. I thought he was joking." June leaned back in her chair and gave a wistful sigh. "Oh, I loved him so very much." Neal watched her face fall from dreamy to sad and he covered one of her hands with his own. She was a kindred spirit, wounded by a lost love. The older lady put her other hand over his and smiled at him. "Thank you for insisting I tell you. Now drink your hot chocolate before it gets cold."

* * *

Lyn walked into her new office and set down her bag and green wool coat and inspected her new space. It was much smaller than Peter's, a loaner office but it would do just fine. The woman was testing out her chair when she spotted a lounging figure in her doorway. Neal Caffrey was standing with her door open, preparing to knock, which was a little unnecessary since he was already inside. Lyn fixed him with her friendliest smile.

"Good morning, Mr. Caffrey."

The con artist returned the smile.

"Good morning, Dr. Marrow. Peter wants to see us."

Lyn nodded and walked around her desk towards Caffrey's still lounging body. "Our first case together," the con man continued. "Are you ready to begin?"

Lyn couldn't help but let the ghost of a smirk to fall over her friendly smile.

"Absolutely."


	8. The Beginning

Peter slapped down a file large enough to rattle the coffee mugs on conference table. When he was satisfied that everyone's attention was on him he straightened and began his lecture.

"A forged Degas was discovered by a forensic team when The Met sent it for restorations."

"Which piece?" Of course Neal would interrupt before the agent even got to the body of his speech. Couldn't the kid just sit still and shut up and let Peter get to that part in his own time?

The older man looked at Neal's carefully contrived innocent/curious face. That usually meant he was trying to hide how invested he was in something. So no, Neal probably couldn't wait. He had no impulse control.

"Ballet Rehersal, 1874."

Jones let out a soft 'ah' of recognition but Cruz's brow furrowed, trying to remember if she knew that one. Peter spared a glance and Lyn. The redhead was just sitting calmly and attentively.

"The interesting part is there seems to be some speculation about the forger."

"Isn't there usually?" Peter ignored Cruz's sarcasm. The mean age of his team was too young for him to get twitchy over every attitude slip.

"Yeah but this is a little more complicated." Peter tossed packets of photographs on the table. Some were infrared of the underlying drawing and base coats and some were of the completed work. As expected Neal noticed it first.

"The drawing, the base coat, and the top layers were done by different people." Neal was semi-bent over the photos, face intent and that half admiring look Neal got when he saw a particularly good forgery plastered all over his face. Professional appreciation? Despite that fact that Peter really didn't like it when his charge got too excited over a crime the agent liked seeing Neal's guard down. It allowed him to concentrate on his own work rather than constantly worrying about what was going on in that pretty-boy head of his and whether or not he was going to have to arrest him for it.

"Oh, really?" Cruz never did let an opportunity to jab Neal slide, which Peter usually enjoyed. Neal just graciously held up a close-up of the underlying drawing.

"The radius of these strokes is very short, we're looking at someone with small hands and wrists." He held up a photo of the base paint. "The person who did this is left-handed. The sketch artist is right handed." Finally the completed work. "The person who finished off the painting is right-handed but the strokes are too large to belong to whoever drew the outline."

Peter suppressed the urge to pat Neal on the head. It was exactly what the forensic analysts had said.

"So what, we have a band of forgers? Don't these guys usually work alone?" Jones immediately sent an apologetic glance at Neal for using 'these guys'. The young agent always felt strange talking about white-collar criminals around Neal, like he should apologize for not being politically correct about their suspects. It was a rather inconvenient impulse to have while working on Peter's team.

Neal gave a casual one-shouldered shrug. "That's true. But there are some things that take specialists, though none of the things here do."

"Why would you specialize where no specialization is needed? Interesting." All eyes focused on Lyn but she didn't continue.

"Do you have anything to add to that?" Lyn spared a fleeting glance at Peter but quickly returned to staring off into space.

"Hmm. It's all very-" The redhead waved a hand around in the air distractedly. "-Industrial Revolution right now. I'll get back to you." Peter saw Neal smirk amusedly at her but the young woman ignored the con man. Cruz looked slightly confused, as if she just noticed Lyn was sitting at the table.

"Who are you exactly?"

Crap. Had he forgotten to officially introduce Lyn? The woman in question just smiled at the female agent and stuck out her hand.

"Hi, I'm Lyn Marrow. Agent Burke hired me as a profiler." Cruz was definitely sizing the taller woman up but her expression was friendly enough and she shook the outstretched hand so Peter didn't waste time trying to play camp counselor. "Good morning, Agent Jones."

When had _they_ met? Peter shook his head. It didn't matter right now.

"So we have at least three perps-"

"Oh, there are definitely more than three people." At Lyn's outburst Peter gave up and sat down. This had turned into a group discussion long ago.

* * *

"Oh?" Lyn didn't react to the amusement in Caffrey's voice other than to turn her head and fix him with a confident, professional stare.

"This group has an has someone directing it and whoever they are they aren't an artist. Groups, especially groups of exclusively creative people do not work efficiently without an organized leader."

"And why not?" Caffrey's eyes lit up and a smirk was twitching at the corner of his mouth. He was enjoying calling her out in front of everyone, that arrogant, smug- No, it was not time for name-calling.

"If it were just a band of artists that forgery would never have been completed. Forgers are generally arrogant in their abilities- a necessity if they want to be successful. You can't forge The Mona Lisa without thinking you can paint it just as well as da Vinci." The movement was miniscule, like he was trying to hide it, but Lyn caught Caffrey's nod of assent. "Put three arrogant artists in a room and ask them to work on the same painting and it's going to be a disaster. Unless, of course, they have someone outside their personality type telling them what to do."

Caffrey's focus had zeroed in on her rather than the general group acknowledgement his body language had suggested before. Lyn wasn't sure what he was going to say next but she doubted it would really be about the case. This had probably stopped being a group meeting to him after her inferred body count.

"Well," at Peter's voice both she and the con man across from her almost gave themselves whiplash turning their attention to the agent's unexpected vocalization, "that's very nice, and everything, but we have work to do. Lyn," he have her a stern look but Lyn had no idea why. She was just doing her job, "keep working on those profiles. Jones, Cruz research the gallery in Connecticut, I want to know if they were in on it. You," Peter pointed at Caffrey, "are going to go over the forensics and shipping details of that painting." Jones and Cruz left obediently but Neal waited to hold the door for Lyn.

"Thank you, Mr. Caffrey."

"You're welcome, Dr. Marrow."

Lyn could practically _feel_ Peter rolling his eyes.

* * *

Mozzie was sprawled out on the couch in Neal's loft, humming along to the Bach coming out of June's state-of-the-art sound system. This was _so_ much better than his storage unit. The lounging man lazily reached over to the coffee table to pluck a slice of nectarine from the artfully designed tray of snacks some of June's staff had provided him with to "tide him over" until June returned for their poker tournament. Neal's benefactor was a slippery player but Mozzie was confident that his new bluff-counter-bluff maneuver would put him in the black.

The buzzing of his cell phone drew the con man out of planning his attack. Only one person had the number to this particular cell phone. He had many.

"Yes, my dear friend and confidant Neal?" Mozzie could hear Neal's soft chuckle over the line.

"Hey, Moz. I need to ask for a favor." His voice was hushed so Mozzie surmised he was still in the FBI building. "Peter's got me drowning in paperwork right now. I need you to find out what you can about a forged Degas that The Met got a few weeks ago."

"Oooo, a Degas, nice."

"Moz."

"I'm just saying. Forging a Degas takes a certain amount of skill."

"Yeah well it looks like three different people worked on this one."

That last bit of information made Mozzie's eyebrows shoot upwards.

"Really?"

"Yeah, look, I don't have a lot of time, Peter's on his way back."

"Yeah, yeah, go play nice with The Man. I'll see what I can scrounge up."

"Thanks Moz. Enjoy June's fruit plate." Mozzie rolled his eyes when Neal hung up. Normally having someone know what you were doing all the time would have him sweeping the place for bugs but it was something Mozzie had learned to accept as part of Neal a long time ago.

The bald man sighed and sat up, popping an apple slice into his mouth. He had work to do.

* * *

Neal hung up his cell phone just as Peter was walking through his office door holding two cups of coffee. Neal would, of course, refuse to drink that FBI swill but it was a nice gesture.

"Done with those forensics yet?" Neal threw the papers down on the desk.

"Yep. They did a good job. I agree with their findings."

"Hmmm." His handler sat across from him in his much more comfortable chair. "What do you think of Lyn's fourth man theory?"

Neal leaned back and began to toss Cruz's stress ball that he had swiped from her desk- just to get a rise out of her- from hand to hand.

"I can't see a reason for the forgery to be done this way without someone commissioning it. So it makes sense."

"Good. I agree with her. Just wanted to make sure we're all on the same page." Neal saw Peter wince after taking a sip of his coffee. That's what he gets for not convincing Hughes to spring for a cappuccino machine. Neal reached for the transportation documents when the older man cleared his throat, stilling the con man's actions. "This thing, this competition or agenda to whatever you have with Lyn, you can't bring it on a case, you know that right?"

"I don't have an agenda, Peter." The agent gave him a hard look. "I'm serious." Neal held up his hands, palms open and poured on the innocence. Peter's expression didn't change.

"Uh-huh. Just don't do it while we're working."

"What? You're not going to try to stop me from executing this alleged agenda?"

"Lyn doesn't need someone to protect her from you. She can do that all on her own."

The con man dramatically covered his heart with his hand. "Protect her from me? Peter! Just what do you think I was planning on doing to her?"

Peter's eyes narrowed. "I don't know and I don't care. It won't work so don't do it." He enunciated 'don't' and 'do' with finger jabs.

Neal rolled his eyes and went back to his files. This had to be his least favorite part of working for the FBI. Paperwork. What was it with bureaucracies and paperwork? Did they have a vendetta against green technologies? And why did everything have to be in triplicate?

And _of course_ he had plans for Marrow. Peter had every right to be suspicious. But Neal would still misdirect, misinform, and just flat out deny everything his handler threw at him. It was in his nature. And it was fun to match wits with Peter.

Marrow was undoubtedly going to be a long-term project. He didn't want her gone; she could be very useful as an ally. The challenge was getting her to _be_ an ally. She seemed to enjoy their banter- Peter would call it arguing or posturing- so he would keep that up. She was mostly immune to his charms, mostly. He was going to have to get her to connect with him. Facilitating a connection was more important than any line, any game, any physical contact when it came to gaining a mark's trust. Get a mark to identify with you and you were golden. But he had to do it in a way that wouldn't make Marrow suspicious of him. Which meant he was going to have to do this slowly. But that was ok, he could do long term.

"Oh, and Neal?"

"Hmm?" The con man looked up at Peter.

"Return Cruz's stress ball before she shoots you."


	9. New Kids, Old Friends

**Here's an extra large chapter to inspire more ****reviews.**

Lyn sat in Susan's office in the woman's designer bakery picking at her turkey sub while the brunette happily chatted away. Lyn needed a lunch break that didn't involve trying to find her niche in the complex social structure of a federal building. Here, she felt comfortable, listening to Susan's merry babble about brown sugar to flour ratios and her newest employee _Raphael_.

"…so he's just standing there, all 6 foot Italian muscle-"

Lyn was going to have to put an end to this before she had to file a sexual harassment suit on Raphael's behalf.

"I'm gonna stop you there, sweetheart. You have a crush on him. I got it."

"Crush? I want to use his body as a jungle gym!"

Lyn covered her eyes with her hand and scrunched her nose.

"Please don't." The redhead abandoned her sub for the much more appealing snicker doodles Susan had brought in. The other woman shrugged.

"Ok, I get it, you're not in the mood. So how's it going at the FBI? The day's not even over and you're hiding in my office so I'm going to venture it's been a little rocky?"

Lyn sat back in her chair and tilted her head, considering. "Not really rocky more like weird." Susan gave her a curious look. "It's weird to describe a forger to another forger. Every time he opened his mouth I kept expecting him to discredit something I said. It's going to get some taking used to." Lyn glanced at Susan's face. The woman's eyebrows were drawn together and her mouth was a little parted- a mixture of surprise and confusion. Lyn had gotten too specific without any preamble and her explanation must have not made sense to anyone on the outside.

"I have no idea who you're talking about but I'm on your side."

Lyn looked at the wall clock and sighed.

"I have to go, Susan. My lunch break is over." Lyn gathered her things to leave but something her shorter friend had said during her _Raphael_ story. "How is Raphael fitting in here?"

Susan's eyebrows twitched upward, and her eyes widened- confused. It was a reasonable response as Lyn had shown very little interest in the man before.

"Ummm, fine. It was a little rocky at first, but there's always a learning curve when working somewhere new. I'm sure it's the same thing for you."

Lyn was barely listening at the end, her mind already whirring. She let out a distracted 'See you, Susan' before heading back to her new office.

* * *

"I've been thinking." Lyn was pacing in front of Peter's desk. Jones sitting in one of the guest chairs, watching her move back and forth, an almost amused expression on his face.

"That's good," the older man said slowly. Lyn ignored him.

"Why sell to the small gallery when The Met obviously would have taken it and paid a better price? The forgers knew it wouldn't stand up to extreme scrutiny so they sold to a smaller gallery that couldn't afford testing. The painting wouldn't have even been questioned if it hadn't been sold to The Met. And the various painters worked seamlessly together. You had to x-ray and then put the thing under the microscope to see the differences. Whoever these people are they know the system and each other. I seriously doubt this is their first forgery."

"Alright. And how is this going to help us find them?" Jones' tone wasn't mocking but it wasn't curious either; more like he just couldn't understand what she was doing there. A lot of law enforcement officers were confused about that but they usually weren't as polite as Jones was being about it.

Lyn was glad Peter jumped in because she hadn't really thought that part through.

"Well we can't go around and check every small gallery in New England for these three part forgeries or whatever they are. Let's just start with the ones in the city and see if we can't scrounge up a lead on the perps."

Lyn watched Jones shift in his seat to sit up straighter and lean forward, the picture of attentiveness. It was clear how much he wanted Peter's approval.

"We should start with any unusual purchases, very valuable paintings." Jones almost did a double take when he heard the suggestion come from Lyn instead of his mentor. "Having a more valuable piece usually means it's rare and therefore more desirable. It would help ensure the gallery, especially a smaller gallery, be more cooperative, maybe overlook questionable, I don't know," she waved her hand in a dismissive gesture, "these things usually come with some sort of paperwork for authenticity or something, right?" Lyn heard try to Peter suppress a snort of amusement and she saw Jones' smirk out of the corner of her eye. When she looked at him his face projected professionalism and sobriety but his eyes were brimming with laughter, but not in a cruel way.

What? White Collar wasn't her specialty. Peter knew that. Jones could be good-naturedly amused all he wanted, she knew what she was doing.

"Alright," Peter nodded at both her and Jones. "Go at it."

Lyn was confused. "Both of us?"

"Uh, yeah."

"Ok, not really part of my job description but I can go with it."

"Get Neal to help," Peter looked over his desk into the bullpen. Caffrey was twirling his hat and staring off into space. "He looks bored."

Yeah, cause more research and paperwork was bound to keep him entertained. He would probably commit fraud for kicks. By the slight smirk on Peter's face, he was quite aware of what fate he was binding his charge to.

Jones stood and opened the door for her- a gentleman- not like to way Caffrey had done it- for the attention. "Shall we?"

* * *

Clinton Jones was a give-a-guy-(or girl, as the case may be)-a-chance kind of person. Unlike many of his co-workers Jones had sat back and reserved judgment when Neal Caffrey came to work at the White Collar unit under Peter's custody. Caffrey had turned out to be, not to sound cliché, a breath of fresh air. He brought the creativity level up around the office and was whip smart, which Jones always appreciated, and well, was just a really likeable guy. Not that Jones wasn't entirely aware that Neal could cut and run at any moment but until he did the agent was satisfied just to enjoy working with the ex-con.

And then there was Lyn Marrow. Jones had been suspicious at first, thought that this was another OPR scam to get at Peter or Neal. But she had looked him in the eye and told him in no uncertain terms what she was doing there, and she was being honest, Jones had always been good at deciphering things like that. And Peter trusted her. Hell, Peter hired her as their personal shrink. So he was sitting back, just as he did for Caffrey, and was reserving judgment. So far she seemed competent and could go toe-to-toe with Neal, which was a feat in itself. And there was just something about her that made you feel comfortable and relaxed. Which could be just as much of a psychology trick as Neal's likeableness could be a con.

"Hey man," Jones said, tapping Neal's elevated foot on his desk, "We've got more research to do." At first the con man looked up at Jones like a kicked puppy but then his face shifted over into reluctant professionalism.

"On what?"

"Grab your laptop, we're going to the conference room." Caffrey complied. They began to ascend the stairs as Jones filled him in. "We're supposed to be looking at small galleries in New York that got unusually valuable paintings." Jones let Neal walk in first and he caught the slight hesitation when Neal saw Marrow was sitting at the conference table, already started on the research from the looks of it.

"Dr. Marrow," the blue-eyed man greeted.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey. Agent Jones."

Jones noted that though she was continuously friendly her tone was several degrees warmer when she said his name. Caffrey sat right across from the psychologist, just like this morning. The con man opened his laptop and settled in but he kept glancing up at Marrow, like he didn't want to let her out of his sight. Or couldn't keep his eyes off of her. She was a good-looking woman after all. But Jones had a gut feeling it that wasn't it.

"I got a list of all 300 art galleries in New York City." Marrow gave them both, well, mostly Jones, a wry smile. "Want to go alphabetically?"

"So you're here to profile the galleries." The redhead's focus was immediately diverted to Neal.

"I can't profile a building."

"Why not?"

"Seriously?"

"Absolutely."

"Because it's a building. I'm here because this will go faster with three people."

"Then why isn't Cruz here instead of you?"

"Because Peter is a sadist."

"Peter?"

"Yes, I do believe that's Agent Burke's name."

"I'm aware, I just didn't know you were so casual."

"He calls me Lyn."

"Yes but you call me Mr. Caffrey."

"That's because my relationship with Peter is nothing like my relationship with you."

"We're in a relationship? Well it's a little fast and there's that whole engagement thing on your part but I suppose that's taken care of easy enough."

"This ring is going nowhere."

"You can call me Neal."

"I think I'll stay with 'Mr. Caffrey'."

"Can I call you Lyn?"

"You can call me Lyn when I start calling you Neal."

Jones was 99% sure they had forgotten he was there. But he wasn't offended, this was… interesting. Neal looked like he was having the time of his life while Marrow was impossible to read behind her stonewall friendly-but-utterly-professional look, even when she was calling Peter a sadist.

"Uh, guys?" As entertaining as this was, they did have work to do. "Let's just split up the list and get working."

"Fine with me."

"Great."

Jones glanced back and forth at their identical guileless expressions. Yep. Definitely interesting.

* * *

They had been going at this for an hour and Neal felt like he was about to go nuts. There was even a kind of humming noise in his head. Not only did they have to research the current displays on _every single _gallery in New York City but every piece of artwork that passed through those galleries in the past five years.

Wait, the humming wasn't in his head, it was coming from Marrow. The tune sounded vaguely familiar, like something he had heard on the radio or in a restaurant or something. Definitely not something he owned.

"Are you humming Metalica?"

At Jones' question Marrow's head shot up from her computer and her eyes wide and her body gone still, like she had been caught red handed at something particularly embarrassing. It was priceless.

"No."

A few minutes later Neal heard the low humming again. This time it was 'Good Morning' from Singing in the Rain. Metalica to musicals?

"You're humming again." Neal couldn't resist pointing it out. Her professional face fluttered back and forth to flustered.

"No, I- I used to, when I work, but not anymore."

Neal shared a thinly veiled amused look with Jones.

"Of course not." Neal could tell she was biting back a retort somewhere along the lines of an indignant 'I don't!'. But then she stopped and calmed and Neal was transported back to that stupidly neutral room with the plants in every corner. She simply gave him a small, pleasant, close-lipped smile and went back to her list.

When Neal heard the first two bars of 'Share the Land' he almost burst out laughing. Neal knew that most of the work in White Collar was going to be paperwork and research but it must have been getting to him more than usual if he was about to break his carefully constructed composure over Guess Who. Luckily Peter joined them and prevented Neal from cracking open like a cheap safe. He didn't think he'd fare well in that condition under Marrow's neutral room stare.

"So have you found anything?"

"Mmm, I've got a suspect early Duchamp at the Pinhole Gallery," Jones supplied.

"There _was_ a $450,000 purchase of a Mondrian at a place called…" Lyn scanned her third of the list and her eyebrows centered and raised, the universal muscle twitches for 'you have got to be kidding me', "Halfway House. It was sold to some guy named Daniel Picah."

If Neal were writing this scene he would have himself take a drink of water right at the mention of Daniel's name so he could dramatically and comedically choke and sputter. Luckily for him there was no water in sight. The con man refused to look at Peter lest it trigger the secret sadist, the one that brought deviled ham into an enclosed space, that he knew lurked within Peter Burke.

"The name sounds familiar," Lyn said absently. Neal ignored her in favor of staring holes into his borrowed FBI issue office laptop.

_If I pretend it's not happening it'll just go away._

"Wasn't he the guy who had one of the jade elephants?" Jones supplied. Traitor.

Neal was still not looking at Peter but he could hear the smirk in his voice and feel his jubilant stare boring into his forehead.

"Yes he was."

God, Peter sounded _way_ too happy about this.

"Well," his handler continued, "I think it's time we dropped by Mr. Picah's place. Retrieve the Mondrian ourselves. Neal?"

Oh, no. Peter wouldn't be so cruel. Peter wouldn't subject him to that house that bastardized priceless works of art and had absolutely not sense of cohesion. And Peter _definitely_ wouldn't subject him to the distorted hero worship of Daniel Picah. Neal finally looked at his partner, his own expression probably locked in pitiful.

Actually, yes, he would be that cruel.

* * *

It took all of Peter's considerable self-control to not burst out laughing. Daniel Picah was probably one of maybe four people Neal really, really would rather _not_ like him. And as much as Peter enjoyed and appreciated Neal's intelligence and expertise he also thought his charge's seemingly infallible suave veneer should be deservedly shaken. If Neal was going to be a normal (read: law-abiding) person then he was going to have to start acting like a normal person, not like a character in some hyper-stylish caper movie. Or cartoon.

And the expression on Neal's face when he suggested they go see Picah personally. Priceless.

But there was more to the visit than simply jerking Neal's chain. If there was something suspect about the painting's origin and the gallery knew about it or even suspected, they would clam up the second the acronym FBI left his lips. Picah, however, would be more than willing to help. Especially when Neal, Picah's epitome of cool, was around.

Peter caught Lyn eyeing Neal's reaction interestedly. She would be useful when dealing with Picah. Picah distracted easy and the woman had a talent for getting people to talk about exactly what she wanted them to. And maybe Peter wanted to keep all of the man's attention off of him.

"Lyn, why don't you tag along?"

The redhead looked confused.

"He's a suspect?" she asked slowly. Peter shook his head.

"He gets… sidetracked. I need you to do your psychobabble thing to keep him on point." Peter stood up. "Jones grab Cruz and finish this list. I'll send a team over to the Pinhole Gallery."

"So do I still have to go with you?" Neal was giving him his best puppy-dog eyes.

"Oh yeah."

"Right."

Lyn just looked between him and Neal suspiciously before packing up her things and walking out the door.

* * *

Neal was sulking in the passenger's seat. Well, he was trying not to show it in front of Lyn but there was a slight hardness to his mouth that wanted to turn into a pout. The kinder thing would have been to just take Lyn along and leave Neal at the office but with how dull the day must have been for him, Peter didn't really trust the ex con away from his supervision.

Lyn's head appeared between the seats and the agent was struck with the urge to scold her for exhibiting unsafe behavior in the car like she was a child.

"So, Mr. Caffrey, why are you so anxious to see Picah?"

Peter couldn't help himself and let out a snort of laughter. This got Lyn's attention as she turned to him for explanation.

"Oh, you'll see when we get there."

Lyn leaned back in her seat.

"Uh-huh."

They pulled up to the rather sizable house that contained several floors of, according to Neal, horribly mismatched pieces of art.

"Agent Burke! Neal!" Picah's overly enthused visage filled the doorway. His eyes fell on Lyn and they almost popped out of his skull. The redhead graced him with a wide smile and offered her hand to shake.

"Lyn Marrow." The trust fund baby took the offered hand and kissed the back of it.

"Enchante." Peter had taken French for two years in college and while his own skills were lacking due to disuse that was possible one of the worst accents he had ever heard. Out of the corner of his eye he could see Neal's jaw tighten for just a moment, suppressing the urge to laugh. Lyn took it in spades, her smile never faltering. "Come in! Come in! I just got a 16th century Parisian dagger. 5 Grand if you can believe it."

The house was just as it was those two months ago, big and filled with things the stands for cost more than his car. Well, there were a few exceptions. There was now a very nice hat rack filled with fedoras and there was an antique record player with stacks of Sinatra albums fashionably placed next to it. Peter would bet anything that Picah's closet was currently filled with vintage suits.

"Hey Neal, check it out." Picah lifted one of the fedoras and did that flippy thing Neal does whenever he feels the need to accessorize. The movement wasn't as smooth but the man was obviously proud of it.

"Hey, you learned the trick all by yourself."

Picah darted over to Lyn, who was switching between observing him and taking inventory of the place.

"That's a 13th century silk fan from Beijing. $45,000 if you can believe it." He turned back to Peter and Neal. "Hey, I'm glad you guys dropped by I've got some vintage Chianti and cigars. We could hang out."

"Yeah," Peter interrupted, "Actually we're here on another case."

"Really?" This seemed to please him even more.

"Yes," Lyn began, "You purchased a Mondrian from a gallery called Halfway House."

"Yeah, for a cool 45 K if you can believe it."

"Well we suspect it may be a forgery," Neal finished.

"Wow, can you believe it! That I would have not one but _two_ hot pieces!"

"Well it was bound to happen." Lyn waved her arm to draw attention to the clusters of artworks. "Statistically speaking."

"And you haven't even seen the rest of the house!"

"And I would love to see it." Lyn wasn't being flirtatious, just friendly. "Why don't you tell Agent Burke where the painting is and he and Mr. Caffrey can check it out." Picah looked torn between leaving his idol and showing off for Lyn. But the woman fixed him with an expectant stare and so he caved.

"It's on the fourth floor on the right. View from the Dunes with Beach and Piers, Domburg."

Peter glanced at Neal who nodded, meaning he could identify the piece.

"Shall we?" Lyn turned her body towards the stairs. It was a way for her to control Picah's movements, subtle but effective. The pair disappeared to the second floor while he and Neal ascended to check out the possible forgery.

* * *

Neal stared at the Mondrian painting. It was beautiful. It was more than beautiful. Strokes of color, Burnt Orange no.4, Teal Meadow, Periwinkle Blue, it was one of his earlier works, before he transitioned into Analytic Cubism. It was a landscape, only distinguishable by the direction and type of brushstroke. It was also a forgery. A very, very good forgery but a fake nonetheless.

By the looks of it there was a great chance that it was done by the same trio. Or quadruplet or whatever.

"It's a forgery," Neal informed his handler, straightening from the bent position he assumed to get closer to the painting. "Looks like another of our group projects." Peter nodded.

"Ok, I'll get a forensic team to come collect it," Peter said, taking out his cell phone. Neal raised an eyebrow.

"Ok? That's it? No snarky comment? No sarcasm? No questioning my considerable expertise? Just _ok_?" The FBI agent gave him a dry what-are-you-talking-about-you-idiot stare.

"Yeah. Ok. Believe it or not I actually trust you about these things. Or else you wouldn't be here." The older man shook his head and turned away to make his phone call. Neal was confused. They had gone off script. He leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets, the pose made him looked sharp. He had practiced this stance so much it was effortless.

The sound of Picah's and Marrow's voices made him twitch his head to the side, trying to distinguish the words. The con man had to lean back and look over to the floor below to hear clearly. There was Marrow, in her pretty cream blouse- silk, actually, high quality, watching Picah patiently who couldn't seem to stop telling her everything she wanted to know.

"…so after I told the curator I wanted it she got kinda nervous, went into her office to make a call. The door wasn't shut so I could hear her. She was talking to a guy, called him Professor something. Something with an M. Not that I make a habit of eavesdropping or anything-" Marrow cut him off by shaking her head, and while he couldn't really see her face he imagined she was smiling at the trust fund baby pleasantly.

"No, I wouldn't imagine you do. And you really can't remember the professor's name?" Her voice was soft, almost hypnotic and Neal imagined she could get innocent men to confess to murder with that voice. Poor Picah.

"No, if you can believe it."

"Mmm. That's too bad. Would have really helped Neal and the investigation."

Ah, so she had noticed Picah's little man-crush on him. Peter had finished his call and joined Neal looking down at the pair.

"She's good," Peter said low enough so his voice didn't carry to the next floor.

"Very good," Neal agreed. The con man ignored Peter's stare boring into the side of his face.

* * *

The trio exited the modern mansion as the forensic team entered.

"So what did you think of Picah?" Peter's voice held a hint of barely contained mischievousness. Neal glanced over at Lyn and saw her lips twitch and purse, her jaw tighten and eye crinkle. The con man rolled his eyes.

"Oh, go ahead."

Marrow caught his gaze and then burst out laughing. And she wasn't just laughing, she was _pointing_ and laughing. Well, getting her to laugh was a step in the right direction of where he wanted her to go, even if he hadn't so much gotten her to laugh as she was openly mocking him.

But hey, reality was really all about interpretation.


	10. Group Dynamics

**I'm in the process of moving and I'll be leaving for a cross-country drive very soon. Even though I wanted to make this chapter longer I wanted to publish something before I left for my loyal and much appreciated readers.**

"So let me get this straight, you're conning this Dr. Marrow into liking you by not conning her?" Moz stared at his younger friend's open face. "That's... different." He shook his head and sipped his wine.

"You don't understand, she's not a normal mark. She's actively looking for a con. It's like navigating a minefield with this woman." Neal popped a hors d'oeuvres in his mouth. "Of course I'm going to con her, it's just going be low-profile." Neal grinned at his own pun. "Not that I'm not going to try something more extravagant every once and a while, it would be suspicious not to. And when she catches me in my bigger cons she'll think that she can detect them all that easily and so my real con will go unnoticed."

"Really, maybe you do need counseling." Neal ignored him. God, the kid just looked so _excited_ about his plan. Hurricane Neal, ready to strike again. "Can't you just seduce her or something?"

Neal had considered seducing Marrow for about one minute before deciding it was a no-go. On the chance that she saw through it, it would end in utter disaster for him. And if she didn't… well, the woman was engaged and happy, and in love and Neal bristled at the thought of ruining something he held in such high regard. So no seduction for Marrow. Would he still flirt with her? Of course. He liked flirting; it was fun.

"Sorry, Moz, but no."

"So you're really just going to distract her with cons while tricking her into liking you?" Moz had never sounded so skeptical.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence." Neal swirled the wine in his glass. He wished Moz didn't keep emphasizing that he was _tricking_ Marrow into being his friend, as if she wouldn't like him otherwise. He was a likeable guy; he made a living being a likeable guy.

Neal's pouting was interrupted by Moz dropping a giant binder on the table. Where the hell had he been hiding that thing?

"Brought some light reading with you?"

His friend rolled his eyes.

"I took the liberty of gathering some intelligence on your funny FBI woman shrink." Moz internally winced. He was going to have to think of a pithier name for The Suit's latest control tactic.

Neal's eyebrows disappeared behind a wayward curl when he began to slowly flip through the binder. "_Some_ intelligence?" The con man held up a paper. "This is her third grade report card."

Mozzie shrugged, like it was completely normal. "You can never be too thorough." Neal shook his head and closed the massive binder. He would flip through it later.

"Did you find anything on the stolen Mondrian?"

Moz pursed his lips and frowned.

"Honestly, there's not a whole lot. Whoever these people are they're playing it close to the chest. I did hear one thing though. Well, overhear."

Neal made a gesture, clearly meant to hurry his friend along.

"There was something about a professor and his students but my source didn't call them his students, they called them 'disciples'." Moz accompanied the last word with air quotes and rolled his eyes at the dramatics.

"Huh." Neal drank a deeper gulp of wine. "That's interesting."

* * *

Lyn had spent most of the night lying in bed listening to Roger's soft snoring and mulling over the second part of her job at the White Collar Unit: keeping Neal Caffrey out of trouble. It wasn't technically in the contract, which stated that part of her duties was to continue to monitor Caffrey's mental state, but the way Peter and Agent Hughes had explained it to her at the signing 'monitoring' and 'keeping his ass out of jail' meant the same thing.

Well obviously increasing the costs of running/committing crimes to outweigh the benefits was the most straightforward way to do it. The problem was, outside of the cases he had worked on and his living situation; Lyn didn't know anything about his life after prison. Did he have any friends? Was he dating?

If anyone would know these things it would be Peter. The redhead winced at the thought of discussing Neal Caffrey's dating habits with the no-nonsense agent. A bribe was definitely in order.

Armed with premium roast coffee and Susan's superior croissants Lyn knocked on the agent's office door.

"Enter," he replied curtly. Great, he was already being short today. Lyn entered and gave him her most disarming 'tell me about it' psychologist expression she learned in her first year of grad school. Peter took note of the coffee and pastries and narrowed his eyes.

"Ok, what do you want?"

"What makes you think I'm not just being collegial?"

Peter gave her what must be a patented deadpan look. "I work with the world's most devious conman."

Lyn shrugged and sat down, undeterred, it's not like she really expected Peter to be oblivious to her tactic. "I just want a little information about Caffrey." The psychologist slid the coffee cup and croissants across the desk. Peter eyed them for a moment before accepting the offering and gesturing to her to continue. "Does Caffrey have any friends? Not just the people he sees here but friends outside of work?"

Lyn watched Peter tilt his head, trying to retrieve the information and then his mouth twitched in a smirk.

"One, maybe two. But they have more to do with his previous activities than anything."

Lyn frowned. This was not good news.

* * *

Peter had been suspicious when Lyn brought him coffee and pastries, he didn't get to where he was today without a rather healthy does of paranoia, and as the only person who ever caught Neal Caffrey, let alone _twice_, he figured that paranoia was justified. The question about Neal's social life had been unexpected but it made sense that she would be concerned with that type of thing.

Mmmm, did that coffee smell good. I might be better than June's. Peter exploited his bribe and grabbed the steaming cup.

"Is Neal dating?"

Peter' hand paused on it's way bringing the coffee cup to his mouth. Ok, _that_ he hadn't been expecting.

"No, not that I'm aware of." His hand completed the move though he continued to watch Lyn suspiciously.

"I think you should encourage him to date."

Peter almost dropped the cup, only a few centimeters from where he wanted it to be, at her last statement.

"Wha- Why?"

"He's a at his highest risk for flight when his past is involved and lowest when his ties to this community are strong. Dating and being in a relationship with a woman would strengthen those ties. And loneliness does terrible things to a person. He was locked away from the world and from companionship for four years. It's not healthy."

"Yeah, but why do _I_ have to do it?"

"Because you're more of an authority figure. And a guy." Peter rolled his eyes at her middle-school explanation for his intrusion into Neal's love life, which, as far as Peter knew, still consisted of his charge mooning over Kate. And conspiring with Haversham to ruin all of Peter's hard work by going after her.

Did Neal really think it was _easy_ to get him released into Peter's custody after he escaped from super-max? How difficult it was to find a judge willing to take that risk? If super-max couldn't hold one of the most notorious con men of this century how was a bit of plastic around the ankle supposed to?

But that was getting off topic.

Peter bit into the croissant, which was basically heaven in pastry form, and considered Lyn's proposal. He'd already told Neal he should start making an effort to move on and for about five seconds after finding the woman who turned out to be a fence in Neal's apartment Peter foolishly believed he had taken that advice.

Lyn might be aiming a bit high.

And Peter wasn't looking forward to having a conversation about Neal's love life that was more involved than 'Kate dumped you, move on to one of the hundreds of women that throw themselves at your feet everyday' unless it was absolutely necessary. But friendship Peter could do, was already doing. And Lyn was right; it really wasn't good for anyone to be as isolated as Neal was.

"I'll talk to him." This seemed to please Lyn because she powered down her 'Psychologist Mode' and relaxed in her chair.

Jones knocking on the door and sticking his head in ended their companionable few seconds of silence. Peter nodded for him to speak.

Jones flashed a friendly smile at Lyn before addressing his boss. "The forensics are back for the other paintings. They're in the conference room."

Peter nodded again and he and Lyn followed the younger agent out the door.

* * *

Reese Hughes made it a habit to sit in on some of his teams' meetings without warning to keep them on their toes. Today it was Peter's team's turn; the senior agent was curious to see how Marrow was fitting in so far. And though it was on the long list of things Hughes would never admit out loud, Caffrey was damn entertaining if not an annoying little shit sometimes.

When he walked into the conference room everyone stiffened and became hyper alert except for Caffrey and Marrow. Caffrey probably because he was so slick tension just slid right off of him. Marrow because she was the only person in the room whose livelihood didn't depend on him; even if he fired her she could be employed again in about three seconds somewhere else.

"So," he started, "where are you on the Mondrian case?" Hughes looked at everyone in the room but was waiting for Peter to answer. He was team leader, it was expected. The agent didn't disappoint.

"We found two other paintings that match our perps' M.O. and a lead that points to this all being orchestrated by an art teacher."

Hughes raised an eyebrow at the other agent. This was New York; 'an art teacher' didn't exactly narrow it down. Caffrey spoke up next. At least he didn't raise his hand this time.

"Judging by the quality of the work he's probably working at a university, easy access to young, quality artists."

"Which changes the profile of our quartet." Marrow's interjection was smooth instead of interruptive. She seemed to be getting along well. "This is no longer a group of established, arrogant forgers with a benefactor. We're now looking for a dynamic leader who seeks out and preys on the most vulnerable of his students. They would be insecure, eager to please, probably far from home, easily manipulated. The professor is definitely the pupetmaster in this scheme and I'd bet anything he's been through the system before."

"Anything? Really?" Caffrey was grinning that shit-eating grin of his at Marrow but she seemed to be very effectively ignoring him, which, Hughes observed, made the con man deflate a little. This amused the senior agent more than it probably should.

"Ok, great, there can't be too many art teachers with a record," Cruz piped up and then immediately looked contrite at her outburst. Eager, that one was. She was going to be one of those hellcat agents, Hughes could tell, whose name would one day make perps quake in their boots. But right now she was a rookie who had to do mind-numbing paperwork, just like every other agent that passed through these halls.

"Good." Hughes nodded to Peter's odd conglomeration of agents, a civilian, and a convict. "Let me know when you have a suspect," he told Peter before exiting the conference room.

Hughes could practically fell the collective sigh of relief at his leaving. Hughes smirked at this. There definitely some things that he loved about being the boss.

* * *

As it turns out there were two art professors with a record, one for possession of stolen property and one for petty theft. Neal had a feeling it was the petty theft guy- what was his name? The con man looked down at the print out in his lap. Ah, Brendan Gless.

Marrow was sitting in the back seat as Peter drove them to Gless' residence. She hadn't even asked if she could or should come along; she just gathered her coat when Peter announced he was going and walked out with them, like it was a given. But she did sit in the back seat again without protest, like she knew the hierarchy of relationships in their trio. Neal was Peter's consultant first, therefore shotgun was his. (Ok, technically Marrow was a consultant first but Neal hadn't even been a file on Peter's desk then so it wasn't relevant.)

"You have to admit, this guy's very good. He doesn't make the mistake of bragging _and_ is able to keep three college students from doing the same." The thought had been rolling around in his head since Moz had managed to only scrounge up one sliver of information on the suspect. Peter grunted unintelligently from the driver's seat.

"Yeah, or he's threatened them into compliance. You don't need to have much skill to do that."

"It's been proven threats aren't an effect tool to use in ensuring complicity," Lyn rattled off from the backseat distractedly, like it was an automatic response.

"I'm just trying to paint a picture of what this guy is like before we get there. Just to be prepared." Actually, Neal was just tired of the silence and Peter wouldn't let him play with the radio or navigation system. And if he couldn't stop his mind from whirring with ideas and angles and schemes _and_ wasn't allowed to distract himself then he would make sure both of his companions' minds were whirring with ideas and angles and schemes too. "So no threats, and it can't _just_ be the money, not that it doesn't hurt, but if these students are as vulnerable as Dr. Marrow figures they are then they don't have the mindset to break the law just for greed. Therefore," Neal flipped up the page with Gless' photograph, "there has to be something special about our mastermind."

"What makes you so sure it's Gless?" Peter's tone tried, and failed, to hide his genuine curiosity. He was probably wondering if Neal had picked up on something that he had missed.

Neal couldn't help but break out into a smug grin. Both Peter and Marrow were going to hate this.

"Because he's good looking."

Peter and Marrow snorted in perfect synchrony. Neal twisted around to look at the redhead.

"Don't you agree that it's been proven that more attractive people have an advantage in life and are much more likely to have people comply to their requests and help them and believe good things about them even without proof the their worthiness?"

Marrow's pretty mouth pursed, her lips thinning into an annoyed line and she slumped in her seat a little. She was probably upset that her beloved psychology was proving his point and not hers.

"Yes, that is true."

Secure in his victory Neal turned back around. That wasn't really his reasoning for thinking it was Gless but that little triumph had been worth it. _And _it had worked towards his 'Get Marrow to Like Neal' plan; his knowledge of psychology- courtesy of the psychology texts he had borrowed from Moz (Moz had them so he could 'battle against the mind tricks of the interrogators' just in case he was ever caught.)- was groundwork for common interests.

"Yes," Peter deadpanned, "I'm sure you wouldn't have been able to pull half the stunts you did without that pretty face."

Neal's smile got wider despite his handler's mocking. This was familiar and enjoyable territory, he and Peter making fun of the other's appearance. A very juvenile part of Neal was glad he and Peter had something that didn't include Marrow.

"True, I am very pretty."

"Oh my god." The utterance was meant to be under the psychologist's breath but the car wasn't all the big so Neal heard it anyways.

"You don't agree?"

He could see her roll her eyes in the rear view mirror.

"Yes, Mr. Caffrey, you're very pretty."

Neal grinned widely despite her sarcasm. He had, with no effort, just gotten her to admit she found him attractive out loud. And she didn't even pick up on his game.

They arrived at Gless' apartment before he could exploit this lapse in Marrow's microscope-like attention to detail. Peter twisted in his seat to fix them both with his best irritated paternal stare.

"We're interviewing a suspect, try to be professional." The FBI agent was looking at Neal more than Marrow at the last part to which the con man took mild offense. The redhead looked mildly confused but let it go, simply exiting the car.

* * *

Caffrey had been right about one thing; Gless was handsome. He was maybe 35, 36, with dimples and an easy smile- not the blindingly stunning one Caffrey had in his arsenal, but still, it put you at ease and made you like him. Well, anyone who wasn't predisposed to believing he was a manipulative criminal would be put at ease and like him.

Lyn took a quick scan of Gless' apartment. It was homey and welcoming, with warm colored walls and art books and knick-knacks everywhere. It would give off the vibe of a relaxed, free spirited man if every object in the room wasn't meticulously organized to give off that illusion.

The man had been polite and courteous to Peter and Caffrey and had lightly flirted with her- taken her hand and leaned in, just a little- when he greeted them and welcomed them inside.

"What can I help you with Agent Burke?" The agent turned on his heals slightly from his own assessment of the space, his hands on his hips. Caffrey was perfectly composed, his hands in his pockets (probably to stop them from fiddling with everything in sight), and moved to stand across from his handler. All eyes were now on Gless but he showed absolutely no sign of distress.

"We're investigating a string of forgeries." Peter gets right down to business in his usual fashion. "A Mondrian a Duchamp and a Degas."

"One of Duchamp's earlier works I assume," the man said, still completely relaxed. Peter nodded. Lyn had looked up the artists they were working with online the night before. A Dada piece, especially one by Duchamp seemed too easy to discredit to her. How many bicycle wheels through stools were there in the world anyhow?

Lyn glanced at Caffrey, who was flipping through one of Gless' art books, and internally shrugged. Who knows? She wasn't the master forger in the room.

"Wow," Caffrey exclaimed, clearly focused on whatever artwork was on the page. He held up the image for Gless to see. "This is a great piece. One of my favorite Rembrandts." The con man then closed the book. "Too bad it's probably a forgery." Lyn studied Gless' reaction; he was oddly tense for the situation- surprise would have been a more appropriate expression. Maybe he already knew it was fake? "Oh, I've seen it and it's very, very good but it's probably a fake."

"Well, I'll defer to your expertise on that." Gless's grin is razor sharp, even with the regard given in his slight head bow; there is still an air of condescension. Caffrey put the book down on the side table next to the couch and this obviously bothered Gless. He tried to keep concentrated on the three of them but his eyes keep darting back to the book though Lyn didn't know why.

The redhead glanced at Peter. The agent was staring at his charge like he's seriously considering strangling Caffrey into giving up just _how_ he knew the Rembrandt was fake. Lyn admit she's a bit curious herself. Is it one of his? Doubtful. Caffrey is arrogant, sure, but he's far, _far_ too smart to invite the person who controls his freedom to look closely at evidence that may put him back in jail.

"I'm not quite sure what I can do to help," Gless said apologetically to Peter. The man still kept glancing at the art book Caffrey had handled.

"During our investigation a source mentioned your name." Peter shrugged. "It probably nothing but if you don't mind my associate-" Peter nodded at Caffrey "-and I taking a look around and then accompanying us back to headquarters for some routine questions."

Gless should have been alarmed by this infraction but instead he looked a bit… smug.

"Of course, Agent Burke, anything to help." Caffrey slid away from his position by the couch to join Peter at the hallway entrance. Gless moved to fill the con man's empty spot. He picked up the book that had clearly been bothering him and slid it into an empty space on the shelf. "Oh, please try not to move too many things around." Peter nodded and made an affirmative comment. The agent the fixed her with a hard stare.

"Stay here Marrow." His voice was dismissive but his stare turned meaningful in the last few seconds before he and Caffrey slipped away.

Peter had deliberately caused a rift between her and them in hopes that this would make Gless identify with her and open up. Or try to take advantage and manipulate her. Either way she could garner important information.

Smart move.

Lyn looked at Gless. His gaze had zeroed in on her and she could see him processing this new information on the dynamics of their trio.

Very smart move.


	11. Q&A

**Just so there isn't any confusion this story starts right after "Bottlenecked".**

"That was a bit harsh, Peter. What did Marrow _do_?"

The taller man shook his head, that smirk on his face that usually meant Neal had missed something that was obvious to the agent and the agent was enjoying it. Which was every time Neal missed something Peter didn't.

"Nothing. I'm giving Gless an opportunity to make an ally."

Peter's tactic dawned on the con man and he felt a little foolish for not picking up on it immediately. He sometimes forgot just how _devious_ Peter could be.

"Nice," Neal complimented. "So what exactly are we looking for?"

"Anything that sticks out at you."

Neal looked around Gless' office. Everything jumped out at him. It was how the space was arranged. Stylish and uncrowded so you could focus on everything and not be overwhelmed- controlled, perfect.

"Should it be art related too?" The con man gestured to the general space, 99% of which had something to do with art. Peter just gave him that look that made all of his inferior agents scramble to get to work. It didn't make Neal scramble (Neal would _never_ do something as unsophisticated as scramble) but he still went to work without another comment.

The two of them started on opposite sides of the room without even having to discuss it. Their minds had synchronized a while ago. Ten minutes passed and nothing seemed suspicious to Neal. He hoped Marrow was having better luck. He would hate to have to admit he was wrong.

"Hey, look at this." Neal moved over to Peter's half to gaze at the bulletin board his handler seemed to deem important. The top had a plaque that read 'Philister Award Recipients'. Below were pictures of Gless standing with three or four students, each with a date written on them. "Look at the background." Neal did as he was told and saw that each of the pictures were taken in the same location- there was one of those warehouse buildings that had been renovated into loft apartments in the background. It was not Gless' building and it wasn't part of any school. Neal noticed one more thing.

"Check out the recipients." The soft snort and raised eyebrows told Neal that Peter had picked up on it. There were maybe four male students in all, the rest were young women. Attractive young women.

"How much do you want to bet that Gless' forgers are female?" Peter asked rhetorically. Neal was tempted to answer anyways, just to bug the older man. The ex-convict's mind wandered to the living room where their suspect and profiler were. There was now at least one new reason why leaving Marrow alone with Gless was a good idea.

* * *

Lyn gave Gless an apologetic smile as Peter and Caffrey left the living room.

"Sorry about them. Agent Burke can be a bit…" Lyn trailed off for effect. "…much sometimes."

"Here, sit down." Gless gestured to the couch. It was the first time he offered any of them to settle in. Once they were situated- slightly angled toward each other- Gless started in on her. "Do Agent Burke and his partner always dismiss you like that?"

In fifteen syllables the suspect had managed to group Peter and Caffrey into one unit, which not only excluded her from their confidence but also treated her poorly. It isolated her, weakened her loyalties- made her an easier target. Impressive.

"Well I'm not an agent, obviously." Lyn made sure to weed some self-deprecation into her tone. Gless shifted forward a bit.

"Neither is Mr. Caffrey, that doesn't excuse their behavior."

Lyn made a show of looking away and down, as if embarrassed. "Some people don't like having a psychologist, especially a civilian one, on their team." Lyn almost laughed at the irony of that statement. She gave a little shrug. "It's nothing I'm not used to." Lyn internally grimaced. She didn't know if she was pouring it on a little too thick. Playing roles really wasn't her thing. She could fake the less dramatic emotions fine but it was always _her_ faking _her_ emotions, not some characters'. Gless didn't seem to mind because he placed a hand gently on top of her own.

"Well you shouldn't have to be." The art teacher said it with so much sincerity Lyn knew he had to be faking. He was obviously used to dealing with younger, much more naïve targets. If she had been 18 and a naïve, passionate art student she would be sighing and cooing all over him. Even so, he was very good. Just not as good as Caffrey.

Lyn almost rolled her eyes. Was she now going to compare every guy with a line to the blue-eyed con man? Apparently.

"So," Lyn flashed him a small smile. "You're an art teacher. Do you enjoy that?" Gless' smile widened and he went into a long speech about how he felt he wanted to give back and help young, impressionable artists reach their full potential and making beauty by helping others produce their own. In his speech he referred to his students as 'impressionable' and having 'wild imaginations' as often as he could, like he was laying the groundwork for something. Before she could figure out what Caffrey and Peter re-entered the room. Both she and Gless stood.

"Thank you for letting us look around." The agent handed Gless a card. "Can you be at the FBI building at two thirty? The address is on the card."

The suspect smiled.

"Actually, three would work better for me."

The agent nodded and then assented to the time change. Peter turned his gaze at her. "Marrow." The agent accompanied her name with a head nod, a command that it was time to go. They all exchanged pleasantries with Gless and then left.

* * *

They visited the other suspect, Harold Finnely, but there was nothing to follow up on. Peter looked to both Caffrey and Lyn and neither gave any sign that they found Finnely suspicious either.

Caffrey was right. As usual.

Bastard.

Lyn leaned forward between the two front seats again and Peter really wished she wouldn't do that. Was she even wearing her seat belt? Peter reminded himself that Lyn was an adult and directed his question more towards her line of work.

"What did you get off of Gless?"

"Well you were right in leaving me alone with him like that, he bought it hook line and sinker."

Peter resisted the urge to let out a 'Ha!' of triumph. Caffrey wasn't the only one who could run a decent con. Just as long as he didn't have to flirt with anyone.

"He fits the profile. He's a predator of the vulnerable and isolated, you should have seen the way he jumped at the opportunity to drive a wedge between me and the two of you and build a bond between he and I. He's also very practiced at this- had a speech prepared an everything."

This seemed to amuse the con artist in the passenger's seat greatly. "A prepared speech? Really?" he asked with barely restrained laughter. Lyn's focus turned on Neal and she gave him a smile that told him she shared his glee.

"Yep. And did you see the way he reacted when you discarded that art book?"

Before Neal could answer Peter remembered the ex-con's impromptu analysis of the Rembrandt.

"And how the hell do you know that Rembrandt's a forgery?" Peter didn't care that he sounded completely suspicious, because, well… he _was_ completely suspicious. Neal just rolled his eyes.

"Relax, Peter. That painting surfaced a few months after Rembrandt's funeral. Whoever the forger was, he's long dead. I don't think you can arrest him now."

Peter just grumbled. He would if he could. Lyn was silently looking back and forth between him and his charge before taking a quick breath and continuing.

"Anyways," she turned back, mostly to Neal. "Did you see how much where you put the book bothered Gless?"

Neal angled his body towards the psychologist, his full attention on her, and Peter took note of the movement. He might figure out the significance of it later, right now he was concentrating on what the two were saying.

"Yeah, he couldn't stop looking at it."

"Right after you left he put it back on the shelf and it immediately relaxed him." The young woman bit her lip and looked out the windshield, humming quietly for a moment. "It's not OCD." Lyn shook her head and smiled. "He's neurotic, a control freak- a place for everything and everything in its place. You saw how he changed the time of his interview. I'd bet anything that was just a way for him to assert some control over a situation where Peter holds the upper hand." She finally sat back in her seat and Peter let out the breath he wasn't aware he was holding. "And when you combine control freak with charismatic predator you have the perfect personality to lead this little band of forgers."

Peter gave her a nod and a smile. "Good. I want you observing his interview this afternoon."

"And what about me?" Neal hates not being (at the very least) a central component of the action, let alone not being the center of attention. There are times Peter finds it- though even God couldn't get a verbal affirmation out of him- endearing, like a kid on top of the jungle gym waving his arms- Look at me Dad, Look at what I can do! And, with most things Caffrey, at times it was very, very irritating.

"You've still got a stack of cold cases on your desk." Neal looked like a wounded puppy. "Don't give me that look. The world doesn't stop turning just because we have a new case. The open ones still need to be solved. I've got paperwork and research to delegate on at least a dozen fraud cases waiting for me." The agent spared a glance at his younger partner. He was still pouting but at least he was resigned and pouting.

When the trio got back to the FBI building Neal dutifully went to his desk in the bullpen- which immediately set off Peter's Caffrey's-About-To-Do-Something-That's-Going-To-Raise-My-Blood-Pressure-To-A-Dangerous-Level radar- and Lyn hurried off to her own office to do whatever secret psychologist stuff she does when he's not driving her around the city to unleash on the unsuspecting public.

Peter put himself to the less glamorous grind of an FBI agent until lunchtime. He ran into Lyn leaving the White Collar division, supposedly on the same mission.

"Going to lunch?" she smiled.

"Yep, I'm meeting El."

Before she could give him some nice, generic response before scampering off and leaving him to enjoy a nice, quiet lunch with his beloved spouse, Caffrey pounced out of nowhere.

"So where are we eating, partner?"

"Sorry, but I've got a lunch date with my wife."

Neal's face fell (well, it didn't really fall, Caffrey had trained that response out of himself years ago Peter supposed) when the opportunity for free food disappeared. The agent smirked and shrugged on his jacket before heading down the corridor. He heard Neal's perfectly polished Italian shoes slide across the granite floor, most likely to face Lyn.

"Dr. Marrow, it's a shame to eat alone, would you mind if I joined you for lunch?"

Peter had turned the corner at this point but he stopped and shamelessly eavesdropped. He wanted to hear this. El would probably get a kick out of it.

"I can't think of a reason why not," Lyn said slowly. After a pause she added, "Seriously, I'm trying, but I can't." That last part didn't really have any bite to it and Caffrey chuckled so Peter assumed it was a joke.

Peter smirked again and continued out of the federal building. El was going to think this was hilarious.

* * *

"Oh," Elizabeth laughed, "you left the two of them alone without FBI supervision?" El watched her husband shrug.

"They've been alone before."

"Yeah, but they were still in the federal building!"

Peter smiled. "I do kind of want to be a fly on the wall of whatever restaurant they're in."

After her laughter subsided, she and her husband settled into a comfortable silence, eating gourmet sandwiches in El's office. The event planner stared down at their joined hands and remembered fondly the days of their courtship where a lunch date meant a quickie behind whatever locked door was closest to them. He had been so nervous and smitten in their new relationship that he felt a constant need to please her in order to keep her around. Not that she complained.

Ever.

Now there was the comfort of established, continuing affection of sitting together and holding hands. As fun and exciting as the frantic early days were, El decided this was better.

El began to giggle again at what Peter had told her earlier. She couldn't help but picture Neal and Lyn as opposing military leaders (strange as neither of them were violent people) and the image of the two of them sitting together at lunch (perhaps to discuss a cease-fire but secretly plotting the other's defeat) in undoubtedly stylish uniforms (they were both wonderful dressers- though Lyn was never a flashy as Neal) was quite entertaining. Peter gave her one of those looks that told her he thought she's gone off the deep end.

"What?"

But that just made her giggle more and when he began self consciously wiping at his mouth with a napkin her giggles turned into full on laughter.

"Seriously, El. What?"

* * *

Neal decided to call Marrow 'Lyn' in his head. This accomplished two things. First it aided in his attempts to befriend her. He couldn't very well sell friendship while thinking of her in last name terms- the most successful cons are the ones that you believe a little yourself. Second it rebelled against Lyn's 'titles and last names only' policy, and let's face it, Neal _loved_ to rebel.

They were sitting quietly in a little café, having spent most of their alone time chatting about food. Lyn appeared relaxed and not nearly as scrutinizing as she had when she was profiling him- though her defenses weren't completely down- and the con man took this as a sign to move forward.

"Do you usually come here for lunch?"

"No, a friend owns a designer bakery. Most of the time I go there."

Neal perked up at this. This was the perfect opportunity to "reveal" something about his personal life in order to create a level of "companionship" that was deeper than two colleagues and prime her for revealing something about her personal life later. The rule of reciprocity was such a useful tool in a con.

"Really? I own a bakery."

Eyes wide, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly parted- "_Why_?" -if the heavy mixture of surprise and incredulity in her voice wasn't enough. This was definitely one of those moments where he drew out an involuntary response from her. She immediately realized what she did because her eyes became impossibly wider and her mouth parted a little more. "I mean-" She let out a self-deprecating burst of laughter which prompted Neal to let out a chuckle.

"It's ok, I know what you meant. It's not really something you'd expect." Neal paused to let the waiter set down their food (roast beef sandwich for him, Italian Wedding soup for her). "It was a… strategic purchase."

Lyn paused as she was lifting a spoonful of her lunch, realization dawned on her face, and she carefully put the spoon back in the bowl.

"You jumped out a window." She was just looking at him, a kind of half curious, half stunned expression on her face. "You jumped out of a window of a judge's chambers and landed on the awning of a bakery called The Greatest Cake." Neal wasn't quite sure where she was going with this as she was just sitting really, really still. Out of all the things she could have done what he wouldn't have guessed was for her to smile. "That's a horrible pun."

Neal smiled widely. "I think it's a fantastic pun." Lyn just shook her head and started eating. After a companionable minute Neal broke the silence. "So why doesn't Gless have OCD?"

"Obsessive Compulsive Disorder is an anxiety disorder. People who suffer from it are preoccupied by thoughts that cause them a great amount of stress- that's the obsessive part- and they try to reduce that stress through repetitious behavior such as opening and closing doors a certain amount of times every time they leave a room- that's the compulsive part. Gless clearly wants to control his environment and the idea of others messing around with it causes anxiety in him; however there were no discernable patterns in his living space or any repetitious behaviors."

Neal had seen Lyn flustered, annoyed, pleased, smug, entertained and confused but this was the first time he had seen her really, really happy. This must be what he looked like when he handles a particularly rare painting. The image made him sit back in his seat and consider the woman in front of him.

"Why did you become a profiler?"

Lyn's defenses immediately went into lockdown and she began to study him in that quietly intense way of hers. She was probably wondering why he was being so personal. Neal watched her facial expressions carefully, looking for any sign that she was on to him. There wasn't much but her could see her going from analytical to passive-but-aggressive.

"I was originally pre-law. I wanted to be a prosecutor. A few classmates and I sat in on public trials to see what the reality was like." She was answering his question, and she wasn't even being vague or evasive or anything. There had to be a tactic there. "The more trials I observed I realized I was more interested in the defendant than I was the actual trial. And-" Lyn gave him a smile. "-I found lawyers really annoying." Neal smiled back to hide the whirring of his mind processing this new information- what she had said and why she had said it. "Why did you become a criminal?"

Ahh, she was also using the Rule of Reciprocity.

Neal needed to consider his options fast- which was kind of his specialty; you sometimes only had a few scant seconds to make a crucial decision in a con. He could evade, redirect and break the fragile "bond of trust" he had engineered or he could tell her the truth- or something close enough that sounded like the truth. In the end Neal shrugged and sat back in his chair from where he had been leaning forward in rapt attention at her story, the picture of casualness.

"Because I'm very good at it."

Lyn made a small humming noise in her throat that could have meant anything and then continued to eat her lunch.

* * *

Lyn stood behind the two-way mirror in the observation area of Interrogation Room B watching Gless' body language like it held the secrets to the Holy Grail and it didn't feel like sharing. He was relaxed, obviously he didn't think Peter had anything on him, he still thought he was in control.

Sucks for him.

Peter entered the room with some files and Lyn put on her Bluetooth that was connected to a hidden earpiece Peter had put in.

"Check. If you can here me scratch the left side of your neck."

Peter followed her instructions.

"Good. He already thinks his has the upper hand, let him keep thinking that." Peter gave an almost indiscernible nod and reached out to shake Gless' hand. When he sat he kept his body language as non-aggressive as he could.

"Thank you for coming in, Mr. Gless," Lyn heard Peter say over the microphones.

"It was no trouble." Peter placed the files in between the two of them; close enough for Gless to not have to reach unnaturally to get them but too far away for it to be an invitation for Gless to go through them. And by the way he was twitching his hands under the table and kept glancing down at the files he really, _really_ wanted to look through them. "You seem to think I might know something about some forged paintings? You say an informant gave you my name?"

"No, not your name, just that an art teacher is involved and you happen to have a criminal record."

Gless immediately feigned contrite. "That was a long time ago. I was a stupid kid who made a stupid mistake."

Peter shrugged. "It happens."

Lyn was impressed (though not very surprised) with Peter's expert tactics. "That's great Peter," the redhead said into the Blue Tooth, "make him think you're not really concerned with him. He'll be less likely to shut down his operation if he's not worried and we can catch him with something."

"How long have you been working at The New School?"

"Eleven years."

"Have you seen any particularly promising artist come through your classrooms?"

"There have been a few every year that have exceptional potential."

Peter shifted his facial expression to convey surprise. "A few every year? That's a rather ambitious rate, especially for the art world."

Gless straightened somewhat, as if he were offended by Peter's comment. "I like to think my teaching methods help boost the statistics. I teach my students how to harness their untrained thoughts and feelings into something tangible. I teach them how to discipline themselves. Without it, they burn themselves out. That's probably why other art schools have such low output rates in comparison."

"Because they don't teach control."

"Exactly."

"And you reward the exceptional students for learning this control. I noticed the pictures of the students who received Philister Awards in your office. Is that what these exceptional students get?"

"Yes they earn the Philister Award. It comes with a grant for future art projects."

"And do they receive anything else? Special classes and things like that?"

Gless let out a huff of air. He was starting to get annoyed. And he kept looking at the files on the table with greater frequency. "Yes, if they so wish I give them the option for more exclusive lessons."

Lyn rolled her eyes. _Yeah, I __**bet**__ you do_. "Back off a little, Peter. We don't want to spook him." The agent probably didn't need her to tell him this but it was her job to say so. The agent complied and asked a few routine questions before thanking Gless for his time. After the suspect had left Lyn removed the Blue Tooth and stepped out into the hall to walk beside the FBI agent.

"We need to get a list of everyone in those photos and bring them in for interviews," Peter began. "And we need to find out where and what that building is. I bet that's where is Gless' little workshop is."

Lyn nodded in agreement. "Even if we can't weed out the actual forgers someone has to know something that could get us a warrant to search that building." When they got to the elevator Lyn looked down at the files in Peter's hands, the ones that were never used. "By the way, what's in the files?" Peter smirked.

"Blank 404 forms."

Oh, the agent looked positively smug. He knew they would drive Gless crazy.

"You brought those into interrogation just to watch Gless squirm?"

Peter shrugged nonchalantly, or what would have passed for nonchalantly if the man weren't radiating pure evil. "It's possible."


	12. Irrationality

**Ok, I totally forgot that the name Gless was used in "Front Man". I thought it had just occurred to me. That's a bit embarrassing.**

Roger poured himself some more wine and watched his fiancé carefully. She was pushing her food around her plate but not eating and staring off into the distance, a vaguely unhappy expression on her face.

"Babe," he started. He got a distracted 'Hmmm?' in response. "Are you going to eat your dinner or am I going to have to feed it to you?" That caught Lyn's attention. She hated being fed like a child.

His redhead dramatically took a large bite of her mashed potatoes. "There."

The southern architect sighed and sat back in his chair. Lyn always got like this when she worked on a criminal case. His only real defense was to let her talk about it in her disjointed, roundabout way. Otherwise she was nearly insufferable. "Ok, what is it?"

Lyn set down her fork and leaned forward. "Where do you think the line between genius and insanity is?"

"Um…" Roger should have been used to this kind of question by now. "I guess it's when the person starts doing completely irrational things."

"But what if they're genius irrational things?"

"I didn't know there were genius irrational things."

Lyn swiped his full wine glass instead of filling her own. "Yeah, me neither." She fell back into her chair, looking off into the distance again but with _his_ wine.

All he wanted was his loving, quirky fiancé back and the FBI was holding her hostage. He would apparently have to forcibly drag her back into the real world.

"Are you talking about a suspect?"

"Oh, no. I had lunch with-" there was a very slight pause "-a coworker today and he's… redefining a few things for me."

There was only one reason Lyn would omit the name of the person she was with: she thought it would make him what she thought as "unreasonably" jealous. It was her way of "protecting" him. And his jealousy wasn't unreasonable. His fiancé was, for lack of a better word, adorable and he had seen that trait trigger a kind of possessiveness in a variety of men. And, well… he saw her first.

If she was talking about an FBI coworker it was probably Peter or Caffrey. Roger decided to ignore that Caffrey's name came out as a growl even in his head. Everything about that man bothered him. But Roger swallowed it down before Lyn could read it on his face and go off on a women's rights tangent.

Roger respected women, worked with women, understood they were just as competent as men but he was raised a southern gentleman. Every bone in is body was telling him to lock her away in a tower and build a moat around it and fill that moat with alligators. But he knew when he first started dating his freckled fiancé no tower and moats would be tolerated. Besides, she would just figure out a way to escape.

But back to the matter at hand.

It was probably Caffrey she had lunch with. At least he hoped she wasn't referring the genius/insanity question to Peter, the man with the gun who was supposed to be protecting her. He wanted that man nowhere near the insanity line.

"Is that a good thing?"

Lyn shrugged and resumed playing with her food. "I'm not really sure." The woman shook her head suddenly, like she was trying to shake something off. When she looked back at him her eyes were focused and she was smiling. Ah, his Lyn was back. "It doesn't matter right now. What fabulous building are you currently designing?"

Roger broke out into a wide grin and launched into his ideas for this big account in Philadelphia. He was pleased to see by the end Lyn had cleaned off her plate.

* * *

Peter slid a beer over to Neal, despite the fact that he knew the con man would rather have some ridiculously priced wine. If he wanted that he should have asked El for a drink. Said woman was currently pacing in the living room, half lecturing half debating with some caterer on her cell phone. By the snippets Peter was able to pick up when she passed by the table it wasn't sounding pretty for the caterer.

The agent noted that Neal took a swig from the bottle and didn't even grimace. He'd have the ex con cowing down on wings before Neal knew what hit him.

This was an opportune time to mention Lyn's suggestion, when stripped of its academics, that Neal get a life. And El was near by to smooth over any inevitable incidents where Peter tripped over his own words. In fact, he would rather El take over entirely.

Peter looked over at his wife hopefully but she had those frown lines around her eyes and her mouth was pursed in that way that meant she was very, _very_ unhappy and just looking for someone to unleash her fury on. Probably not the best time to ask.

"So…" Peter decided to just get it over with. "Are you… meeting new people?"

Caffrey stilled his the hand that was playing with the beer bottle and gave him a strange look.

"I meet new people everyday."

"Yeah," the FBI agent could feel the awkward tension climbing up his back into his shoulders, "but are you making friends?"

"Uhh…" The younger man was clearly confused by this line of questioning and Peter didn't want to give him an opportunity to say something and change the subject.

"What about dating?"

"Peter, are you trying to domesticate me again?"

"Well it wouldn't exactly hurt you to try." Peter was trying for stern but Neal was giving him _that look_. "It was Lyn's idea."

"Honey," Peter heard El admonish. Apparently done with her phone call she sat down at the table with them. "It's not nice to rat out Lyn like that, she's just trying to help."

"Wha- I-" El shushed him with a raised hand and turned to Neal.

"You know, it's not a bad idea. I know _tons_ of women who would love to go out with you."

Neal ducked his head and smiled, chuckling slightly. "Thank you, Elizabeth but I'm fine." He looked them both in the eye. "Really." He looked so earnest and Peter didn't know if he was trying to con them or if Neal had actually deluded himself into thinking voluntary isolation was ok. "And bedsides. I've got you," he said with a grin. Peter rolled his eyes and took a sip of his beer. "And Lyn, apparently."

"You know she doesn't want you calling her that." El gave him a 'Seriously?' look. Peter nodded.

Seriously.

Neal shrugged. "Who's going to tell her?" Neal sat back and Peter could tell his mind had switched to a different track. "You know what's bothering me? If Gless is our guy then why did Picah say it was a Professor M something?"

"What? He can't use an alias to sell a forged painting?" El pitched in.

"True," Neal agreed.

"I'd like to know what that alias is. Something to hold over his head." Peter finished off his bottle.

"Well we already ID-ed the forged paintings, there's no need to avoid the galleries. We can go to the one Picah bought his from tomorrow. Knock some heads, twist some arms, I know how much you like that."

Peter didn't try to suppress his amusement. "Yeah, sounds like a plan."

* * *

Neal studied the Halfway House art gallery. It was a tiny little brick thing but well maintained- one of those hidden places that only the locals knew about. Neal wondered how Picah could have possibly heard about it.

The inside was charming and stylish considering what the employees had to work with. They didn't plaster over the brick inside and the space was littered with a mismatch of colorful chairs and benches for people to sit and enjoy the art. An eclectic selection of music played over the speakers. He and Peter didn't exactly blend in. The few employees that were there at eight in the morning were eyeing them with a mixture of irritation, suspicion, and nervousness. It may have been more a response to Peter's badass cop expression than anything.

"Hi, Peter Burke, FBI." The older man flashed his badge to some kid with blue hair and a nose ring and he had that expression on his face that meant he was enjoying the slightly terrified look on the kid's face. Neal had long suspected that Peter's favorite part about being an FBI agent was the power trip. "I'm going to have to speak to whoever's in charge here." The kid nodded and scampered off to the office in the back. Neal moved up to Peter's shoulder.

"Laying it on a bit thick, are we?"

Peter unsuccessfully suppressed a smirk and shook his head. "Nah."

Blue-haired kid came back with an attractive Asian woman who looked very familiar. Peter caught his eye; he saw it too. She was in the photo of the first Philister Award Recipients.

"Hello," she said pleasantly. "I'm Allison Chen, the owner of Halfway House."

"Peter Burke, FBI." The agent was much more polite with Chen than with blue-hair, his entire demeanor softening. Despite working closely with both Diana and Lauren Peter was an old fashioned man at heart- he would never intimidate a woman.

Neal stuck out his hand. "Neal Caffrey, FBI consultant." Despite him pulling out his brightest smile Chen's response was less than enthusiastic.

"What can I help the FBI with today?" She didn't exactly blend in with the setting either. Black wraparound dress and professional pumps, tasteful make up, no hair dye, excess piercing or tattoos.

"We're here investigating a forged Mondrian as part of a string of forgeries."

Chen didn't even blink. "You're speaking of the painting Mr. Picah purchased." Chen tossed her hair back and stuck out her chin defiantly. "It's a little embarrassing of course and we're trying to keep that we housed and sold a forgery quiet."

"Of course," Neal agreed for both himself and Peter.

"It would be very helpful if you gave us the information for the person who sold you the painting."

Instead of showing signs of retreat Chen became even more defiant- and defensive. Shoulders tensed, arms crossed, jaw clenched. "The person form whom the gallery bought the painting, I can assure you, had no idea the painting was a fake. They had bought it at an auction."

Peter looked at him with slightly raised eyebrows. Chen's behavior was raising some serious red flags. Neal hadn't given much thought to Mozzie's information about how Gless' "special students" were called 'disciples'. But Chen's obvious devotion and protectiveness of Gless were making that rumor much more plausible.

"Well that's nice, but we'd still appreciate the name and contact information of the painting's previous owner," Peter said slowly.

"I'm sorry but they are a very valued client and prefer their privacy. If you want that information you're going to have to get a warrant." With that final statement Chen turned and walked back into her office. Neal gave a long, low whistle. He pivoted on his heels to his very annoyed partner.

"Well I think she liked us."

"Oh yeah, I bet we're going right on her Christmas card list." Peter cuffed him on the arm as he turned to exit the gallery. "The woman wants a warrant. Let's get her a warrant."

* * *

Peter disappeared to go deal with the legal system once they arrived at the federal building. Neal didn't mind being left behind, his own personal experience with lawyers and judges didn't leave him inclined to interact with them more than he had to. Plus he had a bone to pick with Lyn.

He drummed his fingers on his desk, planning out his attack. Why didn't anyone _get it_? He was in love with _Kate_. He was going to spend the rest of his life with _Kate_. End. Of. Story.

Neal practically shoved himself out from his chair and strode with purpose to Lyn's office. He entered without knocking, not caring if it was rude, he wanted her off kilter and scrambling to keep up, and leaned next to her on the inside of her desk- looming over her slightly.

She was staring up at him, startled, her eyes impossible big. "Hello," she said slowly, sounding very unsure. Good.

"You think I should date?" He started off direct and without any preamble. The woman blinked in surprise but quickly recovered, launching into a calm, educated explanation.

"You obviously enjoy people. And for someone so sociable you seem to have come out of prison without any obvious psychological problems. But to go so long without any normal relationships… it's not healthy."

"Didn't know you were so concerned. I'm touched." Neal laced equal parts of anger and amusement into his tone so she wouldn't know how mold her response. She looked lost and a little panicked like a doe who just realized that it was locked in a room with a hungry wolf. Neal was enjoying that look a bit more than was probably normal.

Despite the trapped prey expression her voice remained calm and took a turn into soothing- trying to keep him calm incase he really was angry.

"Part of my duties is to monitor your mental state. Despite your best efforts to appear otherwise you're still only human and it's not recommended to be without friends and… other close relationships." Neal placed his right hand between her and her laptop and phone (and if he was giving off the impression that he was cutting off her ability to call for help, well…) and leaned toward her- not close enough for any dramatic reaction from Lyn to be reasonable but enough to crowd her. He pitched his voice a bit lower to make sure her attention was focused solely on him.

"So you're recommending sex. I gotta say, that's pretty damn close." Lyn was supposed to be _so smart_ but being able to spout out what she read in a textbook and maintain a good poker face wasn't genius.

"No, I am not recommending sex," the psychologist continued, "You shouldn't do anything you're not comfortable with." Neal could see her breath was slightly uneven and her mouth was a little slack and she was still trying to figure out exactly _what_ she was supposed to be doing. This pleased the ex con greatly.

"I'm perfectly comfortable with closeness." Lyn's left hand was resting about a half and inch from his right and Neal was flooded with the impulse to rip off her engagement ring and throw it across the room. He ignored the impulse, of course, it was completely unfounded and would do absolutely no good.

Neal tilted his head in consideration and removed his arm from in front of her to lean up straight again. He had to hand it to her; she didn't break eye contact once. And he believed he got his point across. "Thanks for the concern, Dr. Marrow, but I'm big boy, I can handle my own social calendar." Lyn sat up straighter from where she had pressed back into her chair a little.

"You should really take my advice seriously, Mr. Caffrey."

"Alright, compromise, I could always use a few more friends. I'm getting a drink with Jones after work, you should come along." The con man didn't wait for her response- the slight stuttering coming from the woman's mouth was amusing- and made his way to the door. He turned and gave her a big smile that was probably still predatory. "I'll tell Jones you're coming with." And then he left.

What had started as a hitch in the 'Befriend Lyn' plan (he was a fucking adult, he could run his own social life, thank you very much) had turned into an opportunity (and if he felt achingly lonely sometimes, well… having a rogue FBI agent hold your soul mate hostage was a pretty valid reason). She couldn't back out now; he had already left and was presumably telling Jones of the addition to their evening plans. It was human nature to avoid as much stress at possible. Refuting the con man's assumption now would be awkward (read: stressful). In addition to this, Lyn seemed to think he was in dire need of companionship. In her eyes rejecting his invitation would be the same as rejecting his effort to follow her advice and "damage" him further.

Really, he was so good sometimes he impressed himself.

* * *

Lyn sunk back in her chair and let out a long, calming breath.  
_Holy shit_.

She had been in a room with Caffrey the con artist, Caffrey the charmer, Caffrey the genius but this was the first time she had been confronted with Caffrey the convicted felon. She had been alone in rooms with criminals many times before- violent criminals who've done far worse things than the blue-eyed con man- but she was always in interview rooms with a variety of law enforcement officers watching and just a few steps away in case things got out of hand. Any of the really dangerous felons were generally shackled.

They never backed her into a corner looking like a shark in a $4,000 suit sharp enough to cut glass. They had never loomed over her like that and she had never felt like they might lean over and sink their teeth into her if she made a wrong move. And she couldn't figure out what the _right_ move was; she had been franticly analyzing everything she could pick up from him but she just… couldn't. It certainly was… (nerve-wracking, frightening, frustrating, eerie, inexplicably sexy) …something.

It probably was best not to dwell on that.

This encounter did get his point across in glaring neon lights. Clearly he didn't appreciate having people tell him how to run his personal life. Just like every other person on the face of the planet. She may have made a slight miscalculation.

And she was kind of hoping that he would make friends outside of the Bureau. Not that she was one to talk. Besides Susan all of her friends were either cops or worked closely with cops.

At least Caffrey was friendly with Jones and didn't have to depend on Peter or the two other (probably criminal) friends the FBI agent mentioned the con man had. And well, part of how Peter convinced her to take this job was she would have more time to observe and profile Caffrey and Caffrey was giving her an opportunity to do just that. There was no reason to cancel after work drinks.

About and hour later Peter knocked on her door.

"I have an Allison Chen in Interrogation." He filled her in on how Chen was a former Philister student of Gless' and how she was probably how Gless knew which galleries to sell to. She was probably more involved than that and Peter wanted that information. They were standing in Observation watching Chen fidget out of irritation. "If we can get her to roll on Gless we won't have to interview every one of the Philister students hoping to catch a break."

"What's your impression of her relationship with Gless?"

"Well," Lyn almost jumped when the answer came from behind her. That was Caffrey's voice. Jesus, she didn't even know he was _in_ here, "when we asked her about him this morning she became very protective. I say she's devoted to him."

"Hmmm," she hummed in response, trying to get her thoughts together. "Let me talk to her. She might open up more easily to someone she has a bit more in common with."

"You think she'll be any more cooperative because you're a woman?" Peter questioned. Lyn couldn't read his expression because her gaze was focused on Chen but she could hear the mild skepticism in his voice.

"Yes. If you're not comfortable with me doing the questioning then send Cruz in there." Lyn could hear the fabric of Peter's collar rub against his neck as he shook his head.

"No, I don't have a problem with you going into Interrogation." The taller man stepped aside. "This one's all yours." Lyn nodded her thanks and exited Observation, Caffrey still a shadowy figure in the background. The psychologist entered Interrogation and gave Chen a friendly smile and stuck her hand out.

"Hi, I'm Dr. Marrow." Chen gave her a skeptical once over before offering her hand to shake.

"Not Agent Marrow?"

Lyn shook her head and sat down across from the other woman. "No. I'm a consultant with the FBI."

"A consultant. The FBI seems to be filled with them."

"Yes, well, that's not what we're here to discuss."

"Do I need my lawyer?"

Lyn shrugged. "I'm a civilian, I can't arrest you. I don't see why you would need one." Chen pursed her lips but didn't make another mention of legal council. "So you're the owner of Halfway House. You're pretty young to own a gallery."

"A former teacher set me up in the job. The previous owner was a friend."

"And this former teacher was Brendan Gless?" Chen's shoulders tensed at Gless' name.

"Yes."

"That was awfully nice of him. You must have been very special to him." Chen's eyes lit up and she seemed to inflate. Looks like she guessed right.

"I was one of his best students. We were close."

Lyn tilted her head to the side and tried to appear as non-threatening and as non-judgmental as possible for her next guess. "You slept with him?"

"We _dated_," Chen said defensively. "And parted on good terms."

"Obviously, he got you that job at Halfway House. Do you like being the owner of the gallery?"

"It's rewarding. I don't understand what this has to do with the forged Mondrian."

Lyn flashed her an apologetic smile. "Just bear with me. How long have you owned the gallery?"

"12 years." Chen kept her answers direct and to the point but her body language was monologuing like Shakespeare. She kept alternating between tense and accommodating. She was torn between protecting Gless and complying with Lyn- the friendly woman who was her only ally in the Bureau. That was a good sign. Chen shouldn't be impossible to break. All Lyn had to do was rupture Chen's illusion of Gless.

"Wow, that's a really long time to work in one gallery. I'd think by now you'd have grown out of it." Chen shifted in her chair and looked away. "I take it the thought has crossed your mind." Lyn clasped her hands together and leaned forward. "I bet whenever you felt like it was time to move on you called someone close to you to talk it over, an old mentor?"

"What's so wrong with getting a little advice?"

"Nothing, as long as the person giving the advice has your best interests in mind."

"Brendan cares about me." The Asian woman lashed out, her voice laced with desperation. Lyn was getting close to cracking the other woman wide open.

"No, he doesn't. He only cares about himself. He placed you in that tiny gallery and kept you there to control you, use your connections to sell the forgeries he was using other Philister students, other young female Philister students, who he's probably also close to, to make." Lyn opened the file Peter had given her on the way down to Observation that contained the information for the Mondrian's seller. She took out the paper and slid it across towards the gallery owner. "This Professor George Messer? This is Gless isn't it?" Chen had her arms wrapped around herself protectively and she was still looking away from Lyn. The psychologist kept her voice low and soothing, kept her face open and accepting. "He used you, Allison you and a lot of others. Tell Agent Burke everything you know about what Gless is doing and I promise, he'll help you." And Lyn would make sure Peter did so. Gless was a bastard. Chen sat back and took a long shuddering breath and finally made eye contact with the redhead across from her. She nodded.

"Yeah, Messer is Brendan." Lyn smiled with genuine gratitude.

"Thank you." The psychologist nodded at the camera in the corner to let Peter know he should come in now and take Chen's statement. As she passed him in the door she whispered a gleeful 'I told you so' and caught Peter's responding smirk out of the corner of her eye.


	13. Business as Usual

**I'm curious, where do you, my readers, think this story is going? I'd love to hear your thoughts and predictions. Also, the last time I was in New York I was five so any street names and addresses with be pulled out of thin air and I have no idea where I'm sending these characters or even if such a places actually exist. By the way, the writers over at White Collar totally stole my case idea.**

There were times Clinton Jones loved his job. Seeing Gless' face when Peter informed the criminal art teacher that Chen rolled on him was the highlight of Jones' week. Gless had started sputtering and his face got all twisted as Jones had read him his rights. The FBI agent supposed that's what happened when a control freak realized they weren't in control.

When they had gotten Gless into Interrogation he had clamed up, holding the names of the students actually making the forgeries until he got his lawyer. Gless was probably going to try to broker a deal.

Lyn rolled her eyes when he told her and Neal this at a bar many of the agents frequented after work.

"See? Control freak." Her voice was much more relaxed than usual. Normally she defaulted to a clinical tone when she talked about profiling. Her easier tone probably had to do with the glass of whiskey in her tiny hand. Whiskey for Christ's sake! Jones had almost been afraid to give it to her. "He has no loyalty to his students this is just a ploy to try to keep control."

Jones shrugged. "It's up to the lawyers now."

"You know, this is why people have so little faith in the justice system," Neal added, who had been eyeing Lyn since she ordered her drink, his lips twitching in what the agent assumed was a repressed clever comment.

"You know it's that same legal system that lets you walk around two miles of New York instead of a five by five cell," Jones reminded him with humor in his voice. He didn't want to riff on Neal- after four years behind bars the con man was probably acutely aware of the spatial difference.

Neal broke out into a large grin meaning he took the agent's comment in the spirit it was intended. "My point exactly." He finished off the last of his wine and set it down next to Jones' already empty beer. Both men looked at Lyn expectantly. It took her a second longer than normal to catch on.

"Oh, it's my turn to get refills." She darted off to the bar, some whiskey left in her glass on the table. Neal sat back in his chair, relaxed for about a half a minute before he inevitably twisted to look at the redhead. The two of them never let the other out of their sights for long. Neal snorted in amusement and turned back around. Jones gave him a questioning look.

"They carded her," Neal explained. The natural detective inside of him made Jones' turn in his seat to investigate for himself. Lyn was sliding her driver's license back inside her wallet and the mirror behind the bar was reflecting her mildly annoyed expression. Jones could sympathize. It was faintly reminiscent of how people assumed he knew how to boost a car and Neal didn't. Books, covers, and all of that. The woman in question returned with a glass of wine and a beer but no refill for herself.

Lyn picked up her glass and began to swirl the amber liquid around. "Gless might have told his lawyer who the forgers are." The redhead wrinkled her nose and grimaced. "Which is covered by lawyer client privilege."

"There are ways of getting around that." Jones translated that from Nealese to: "I can get that information using means of dubious legality that will drive everyone around me insane."

Jones spent so much time around the office he sometimes forgot that not everyone was a cop. Neal had great investigative skills, either from years of casing marks or he was just a remarkably quick study. It was probably both. But he had no concept of procedure, that the difference between legal and illegal is not whether or not you get caught or the definition of inadmissible.

"You better not do what you're thinking of doing, you or your little friend." Neal gawfed at the agent's unintentional pop culture reference.

Lyn looked at the two of them like they had gone all the way around the bend and even bought the T-shirt. "Unless Mr. Caffrey is secretly Tony Montana I'm going to assume this 'little friend' is an actual small person."

"Oh yeah," Jones answered before Caffrey could redirect. Neal leaned back in his chair, looking slightly put out. The young FBI agent didn't worry about it; Neal was a lot tougher than he looked. As far as Gless was concerned, well, there were at least 500 IQ points sitting at this table alone, Jones was sure they could figure something out.

* * *

Neal wondered if there was any advantage to getting Lyn drunk at this stage in the game. Probably not a good idea with Jones around, he would cut the woman off before she actually got intoxicated.

The ex con liked the FBI agent, he really did. Jones had always treated him like a regular human being, not a convict, not an asset, not an attractive, desirable body. But right now he wished he had Lyn all to himself. Oh well, another time.

The con man stopped his reverie when Jones replied in the affirmative to Lyn's question. He was hoping to steer the conversation far away from himself. If Lyn was ever going to learn about Moz Neal wanted it to be on his terms. Even if it was uncomfortable to admit, because he had to admit it, there was no faster way for a con artist to break than to start lying to themselves, he and Gless did share the desire for control. Moz had been right all those nights ago when Peter, with his astonishing tolerance for alcohol, plied Mozzie with gin, soothing the shorter man's natural paranoia by matching him drink for drink, and drew out a confession of freedom and independence and the unfaltering knowledge that you were in complete control of your own life.

But the situation wasn't exactly out of control; he could easily redirect the conversation back to the neutral territory of work.

"You know, there was one thing we never explored." Both Jones and Lyn looked at him curiously, the subject of Neal's friend safely in the past. "That building in the background of all those Philister pictures. Gless did say he gave private lessons. I bet those lessons weren't on the school roster and I bet that's where he set up shop."

"Ok, if that is where his little enterprise is centered then how do we find it?" Lyn asked, gesturing with her unfinished whiskey still in her hand.

"Chen would know," Jones supplied. Lyn frowned. It was an odd reaction. Asking Chen would be the easiest and most direct way to finding evidence of the identity of the forgers and preventing Gless from brokering a deal. It was inconsistent with her obvious dislike of the manipulative art professor to be unhappy with the prospect of nailing his ass to the wall. Or maybe it was an issue with Chen. But that didn't make much sense either; Lyn was the one who broke her.

The redhead definitely warranted further study. Lucky for him he had a cheat sheet at home.

* * *

Lyn swayed into her apartment something vaguely bluesy that had been playing in the bar running through her head. The woman singing had sounded familiar but she couldn't place the voice.

"It won't do to dream of caramel, and daa da da dada, and long for you." She couldn't remember the rest of the words so she just continued to hum.

Hum? Oh dear. She thought she had conditioned that habit out of her. It drove the people around her, _especially_ Roger, completely nuts. But as she hadn't heard any protests it appeared Roger wasn't home. So she could continue to sway and hum all she wanted.

She wasn't drunk. Really, she wasn't (despite the opinions of her drinking companions, she knew how to sip her liquor). But the whiskey- Jones' face when she ordered it!- had left her feeling lethargic. The young woman plopped her purse down on the counter wanting to free her hands to rummage through the fridge but the flashing on the answering machine caught her attention. Lyn pressed the play button expecting Roger's voice to float out of the machine but instead a booming British accent hurled out of the unsuspecting speaker.

"-turn left, no, LEFT-" There was a dramatic sigh. "You missed it, Magellan." Lyn burst into giggles. "Lyn, love, you there? Of course not, I got the bloody machine now didn't I? There's been this terrible rumor- No, Jane's Street, JANE'S STREET! Do you have any idea where you're going? Hmm? Even an inkling? A tiny, miniscule shaving of an inkling?" There was some disgruntled muttering in the background. "Anyways, love, I just got word that you're working with The Bureau- Bloody Hell! Wha-" The message cut off.

Well there weren't any screeching or crashing sounds at the end so the owner of that accented voice was probably still alive and uninjured. Unless, of course, whoever had the misfortune of driving him around decided to kill him, which was a distinct possibility.

Dr. Evan Birsch: world-renowned criminal profiler and backseat jackass.

Lyn looked at the clock and calculated the time difference between New York and London. Damn, it was too late.

Lyn sighed and made a mental note to call her mentor the next day before continuing to hum and glide through the apartment. She shimmied out of her grey slacks and threw her sweater in the hamper before pulling on one of her NYU T-shirts and draping herself across her mattress. She was still hungry but the languid feeling of alcohol won over and she decided to let her fiancé order take out when he got home.

Drinks with Caffrey and Jones had been… nice. And neither of them, despite the fact they both _really_ wanted to, said nothing about her drink of choice. Her father drank whiskey and her mother was allergic to alcohol (an ironic allergy as she came from a Very Irish Family) so whiskey was the only alcoholic beverage they ever had in the house. When her freshman college roommate dragged her to a local bar that had a no-ID, no problem policy Lyn had been so nervous she just reflexively ordered her father's drink. At 16 it had knocked her out. At 28 it made her indolent and forget to curb her more annoying oddities.

They had mostly talked about work and it had felt _normal_. Caffrey hadn't tried to be extra charming or engaging towards her (and had let the earlier incident in her office lie). The whole thing was just so unsuspicious Lyn didn't know whether that warranted suspicion or if she was over thinking things to the point of paranoia.

And then there was Jones' suggestion that the interview Chen again. There was nothing inherently wrong with the idea, it was the fastest way to get the information they wanted but there were complications.

Chen had spent over a decade under Gless' thumb, completely devoted to him even to the point of going against her own convictions and sabotaging herself at his command. To make her confront the fact that she was just a puppet, that was a shattering blow. And people, as a pretty general and established rule, hated to be proven wrong. In addition, testifying against Gless would be highly inconsistent with Chen's behavior for all of her adult life. People would go to some pretty extreme lengths to remain consistent. There was a very good chance Chen was in denial and might be just as resistant to helping them as she was before Lyn talked to her, maybe even more so to compensate for the blow to her psyche.

Lyn couldn't have gone through that whole cognitive process if she were drunk, now could she?

_Told_ _you so, Jones._

Though she did notice that her eyes had drifted shut and she had started humming that tune again. But it didn't matter; she could stop anytime she wanted.

Honestly.

* * *

Neal sat at the table in his loft staring at the binder that, according to Moz, summarized Lyn Marrow's life. It was a stupid thing to do, have a staring contest with an inanimate object, but the mixed desperate feeling of fear and excitement that always made him hesitate before actually laying his hands on whatever precious object he had finally managed to bribe, charm, and otherwise finagle his way to getting at was paired with the much rarer feeling of _guilt_, which was totally illogical, made him leave the binder in peace.

Finally he decided that this really was stupid, and Neal Caffrey _did not_ do stupid things (not many shared that opinion but what they called stupidity he called a deep sense of romanticism) and he slid the binder towards him and opened it. He skipped over her early report cards, though any documentation of kindergarten or the fourth grade seemed to be missing- Neal presumed this is what allowed her to graduate high school two years early. He stopped at her college years.

Good grades through all four years, graduated with honors (but not at the very top of her class) and then went all the way across the country to study under a Dr. Evan Birsch at NYU as his graduate student. She was listed as one of the authors on many of Dr. Birsch's papers during that time- nothing really unusual, grad students were given credit all the time as they were generally the ones doing the grunt work. What was unusual is she was listed under Dr. Birsch as a student consultant during her time under his tutelage (one time even with the Bureau- White Collar, probably how she met Peter). Apparently this Ph. D. believed in on the job training. Got her Ph. D. in Psychology in 2005. Since then she worked mostly with the NYPD (mostly with the Homicide and Major Crimes division) and had consulted independently with the FBI twice, once with White Collar and once with Violent Crimes.

Though it was evident from all of this she was an intelligent and motivated young woman it was all so… ordinary and straightforward. On paper Lyn Marrow was amazingly normal. Paid her bills on time, didn't have any pets or illegitimate children or medical problems, and lived in a cozy little apartment that appeared to be out of his radius. Just another New Yorker.

He obviously wasn't looking at the information the right way.

Before he could dedicate himself to the pursuit of reading between the lines _A Beautiful Mind_ style his cell phone rang, the caller ID flashing 'Haversham'. Neal immediately picked up.

"Hey Moz. As spot on as my John Nash impression is, I was wondering if you could come over and interpret this dossier on Marrow you made."

"I'm heading your way, I have some information on The Music Box." Neal instantly sat up straighter, the binder in front of him forgotten.

Exactly six minutes and forty-seven seconds later Neal let Moz into his loft. "What did you find?"

"Ok, according to a source The Music Box was in the possession of Count Aguilar of Spain from 1961-78 when it disappeared and resurfaced four years later in Austria in the vault of a very wealthy man by the name of Raphael Klein. In 1992 it was stolen, _again_, and completely fell off the map for seven years- Do you think The Box is cursed, I think it's cursed."

Neal lifted up his hand to stop the inevitable rant. "It's not cursed Moz, at least not that I know of." With all the chaos it was bringing into his life (and the lives of everyone around him), it wasn't an invalid concern.

"And that's all I got." The shorter man flung himself back in his chair and lifted up his hands in self-defense against whatever negative expression was adorning Neal's face. "What do you want from me, man? This thing- it's like it has a mind of it's own. And apparently the strong desire to travel." Neal wasn't appeased so Mozzie switched tactics. "Though I'm glad you asked for my expertise on the Marrow File." Really, if people deferred to his expertise more often the world would be a much safer and private place.

Neal leaned back as his friend took over, and began rifling through the massive collection of documents. The follicly challenged man stopped at the payment records for Lyn's undergrad.

"Notice," Mozzie started, displaying the papers for Neal to see, "her freshman year of college was paid for by Liam Byrne, Marrow's maternal grandfather but the following years of school were paid by her parents."

"So what, there was some kind of familial rift between Lyn and her parents?"

"Which was obviously mended, but still, it's something."

But before Neal could ponder how he could use this to his advantage he kept getting the nagging feeling that the name 'Byrne' was significant. "Why does the grandfather's name sound so familiar?"

"Oh, the Byrnes. They're like the waspy version of the mafia. They're based in Massachusetts but they own basically every shipping port on the east coast. Very well connected, have their hands in just about everything. Did you know they helped fund Boss Tweed's political campaigns?"

A very pleased and conniving smile spread across the con man's face. "Really?"

Moz nodded his head. "Really."

Well, it explained the clothes. Style, especially understated style, wasn't something you just picked up, someone had to _teach_ you that. Neal doubted Lyn owned anything off the rack. It was probably family money.

Neal's task of conning Lyn suddenly became much less complicated. He knew how to do this, been doing this for his entire adult, and some of his adolescent life. Wealthy female marks were kind of his specialty. He now had a whole other angle he could play. And as every structural engineer knew, put enough pressure from enough angles on any form, no matter how stable it is, it will break.

The blue-eyed con man smoothly turned to his shorter friend. "Do you have any more of those psychology books?"

Moz, having known him for so long, immediately picked up on Neal's intentions.

"You want to do a profile on your profiler?"

Neal shrugged, as if the idea was mundane. "Why not, she did one on me." Mozzie tilted his head back in forth and pursed his lips in a considering gesture.

"Mm, not an bad idea."

* * *

Peter had been warned, badgered, nagged, pestered, hassled, and plagued by Lyn all that morning in the office about his meeting with Chen until he just threw up his hand in defeat and preservation of his sanity and dragged her along. Well, not so much dragged as she slipped passed him up the stairs to get to the conference room first. The agent had almost forgotten how much of a control freak Lyn was.

Chen was visibly agitated and defensive. Her arms were crossed tightly across her chest and she kept fidgeting around in her chair, glancing out the window and towards the department doors. Peter gave her the smile he generally reserved for cornered animals and frightened children. "Thank you for meeting with us again, Ms. Chen. I know this is a lot for you to deal with."

"Look, I don't- Brendan- Yesterday had to be a trick or something-"

Lyn shot him a meaningful '_See__?_' look. "It's not a trick Allison. I know it's difficult to accept-"

"It just _can't_ be true." The Asian woman had tensed even further. Peter laid a hand on Lyn's arm and she turned to look at him; the agent did his best to communicate to the psychologist that it was time to switch tactics. There was a slight tilt of her head in acknowledgement before she turned to Chen.

"Ok, maybe we're wrong. Will you help us prove that he's innocent?" This seemed to relax Chen and Lyn sat back, letting Peter take over. He spread out some copies of Gless' photos of his award winners blown up so the building in the background was more prominent.

"Do you know where this is?" He asked, taping his finger against the structure in question. Chen sniffed and leaned forward to get a better look.

"That's his private studio. Some of the better students go there for extra lessons or to use as a workshop. It's on 47th and Mulberry."

Peter smiled gently at her again. "Thank you for your time."

* * *

Peter and Neal approached the renovated warehouse.

"So do you think we'll actually find something in there because I'm betting Gless had that place cleared out after we brought him in the first time."

Peter glanced at his partner as they entered the building. "It's worth a shot." He approached the front desk and held out his badge. "Peter Burke, FBI," he gestured towards the con man beside him, "this is my associate, Neal Caffrey, we need the key to Brendan Gless' loft." The clerk looked confused. "He might be going by George Messer." Comprehension dawned on the young man's face and he handed over a key. "Thanks."

The young clerk called out as they headed towards the stairs. "He hasn't done anything wrong has he?" Neal turned slightly and said something undoubtedly vague and pithy back but Peter wasn't paying attention.

When they got to the door of Gless' loft Peter held up his hand to stop Neal from advancing. There were people in the loft and he could smell bleach through the door. Looks like the gods were smiling down on them today. The agent unlocked the door as quietly as he could and then swung it open.

"FBI! Freeze!" This elicited three different female shrieks and many objects being dropped but the occupants of the studio apartment complied with Peter's order. Two of they young, twenty-something women appeared to have been scrubbing down the apartment while the third were shoving paint tubes in a garbage bag. Peter felt Neal come up close beside him.

"Peter, none of them are over 120 pounds and they're wearing kitten heels, I think we can take 'em. You can lower the gun now." Peter let the exasperation with Neal show on his face but he lowered and stowed his weapon.

The agent turned his attention to the three still frozen women. He gave them a nod and allowed the smugness show in his smile. "Ladies."

* * *

Lyn glanced over at Peter, Cruz and Jones who were dealing with Gless' three young women in the conference room. The forgers appeared to be bickering and the FBI agents were massaging their sinuses, standing with their hands on their hips, and pursing their mouths. Obviously, the forgers were being less than cooperative and probably at a very high pitch. Lyn wasn't going in there if she didn't have to.

She was just about done with her part of the write up for the case when there was a knock at her door. When she looked up Neal Caffrey was already halfway across the room.

The knock was an illusion of courtesy. He didn't give anyone enough time to respond and because he was already inside their space whomever his mark was felt obligated to let him stay.

It was working.

"Hello, Mr. Caffrey." She nodded towards the conference room where Peter was now gesturing with his hands in an aggravated manner. "Looks like you had a fruitful morning."

The con man sat down in a chair across from her and turned to get a look for himself. He took in a breath between his teeth. "That does _not_ look pretty." He rotated back to face the psychologist and leaned back, his hands loosely clasped on his stomach, the picture of ease. Lyn smiled at him.

"Why do you think I'm hiding in here?"

Neal laughed appropriately and then tilted his head slightly, as if considering her for a moment.

"You know, I'm curious. Exactly why do you think I'm a narcissist?"

Lyn felt her eyebrows shoot up in an involuntary expression of surprise. "You want me to explain my profile of you?" she asked slowly. Caffrey just kept on looking at her with that pleasant, confident expression.

"It that so unreasonable?"

"You think I misdiagnosed you?"

Caffrey shrugged. Lyn took a deep breath. The definition of a narcissistic personality disorder was something he could find on Wikipedia. Asking her to explain herself accomplished something entirely different. She just didn't know what.

The psychologist leaned forward to lean on her forearms, her hands clasped together in imitation of the man in front of her. "Ok. Narcissists are interpersonally exploitive, believe they are somehow special or superior to others and should only associate with or be understood by people just as special and superior, have an overdeveloped sense of self-importance and entitlement, exhibit arrogant behavior, and are preoccupied with beauty, wealth, and the fantasy of ideal love." She was finally able to draw a breath, she hadn't during her whole speech. The ex-convict hadn't changed position but he was no longer relaxed. Apparently some clichés are accurate; the truth really does hurt. "But you're right. That doesn't sound anything like you."

Caffrey shifted to lean forward on her desk, so they were suddenly a foot and a half closer.

"What about you?" His gaze was just heated enough to make her worry, as if the small smirk on his lips wasn't adequate warning. "Or are you just... perfect?"

Lyn managed a closed lipped smile. "No. Perfection is a myth. But doctors don't diagnose themselves and neither do psychologists."

Caffrey simply hummed in response and his smirk got just the tiniest bit bigger.

Uh-oh.

**I don't know why but writing this chapter was like pulling teeth. I hope it stays up to par. I can't wait to hear your feedback! **


	14. Shock and Awe

**The character of Dr. Evan Birsch was inspired by Jack Nicholson's portrayal of the devil in The Witches of Eastwick but in my head he looks like an older, disheveled Christopher Eccleston. Birsch is a particular kind of bastard but I love him.**

**One other thing, the scene between Lyn and Neal was inspired by "Funny Little Feeling" by Rock 'n Roll Soldiers. And I giggled the whole time I was writing it.**

Elizabeth loved setting her own hours. It meant if she had no other appointments after two she could close up and treat herself to some window and maybe a little more than window-shopping. She was walking out of a little boutique where she had just bought Peter a woefully needed new tie- grey/silver silk that he _would_ wear even if she had to wrestle it on him- when she literally ran into Lyn Marrow.

The woman looked essentially the same since the last time Elizabeth had seen her several years ago. Her hair was a little longer, her face a little older, but still the same. Especially when she got all flustered and apologetic.

"Mrs. Burke!"

Elizabeth laughed. Lyn could be so overly formal.

"It's just Elizabeth, remember?"

The younger woman smiled. "Right. Sorry. Elizabeth, hi."

"It's three in the afternoon, don't tell me Peter actually left the office early?" She checked her cell phone but there weren't any missed calls or voicemails. Peter would have definitely called if he managed to rip himself away from the powerful gravitational force of his job.

"No, I finished my report on our case, there wasn't anything left for me to do so Peter let me out early."

Elizabeth grinned. The other woman had said it like she had been let out of school before final bell. That's when El noticed the huge rock on Lyn's ring finger.

"You're engaged!" This seemed to startle the redhead because she jumped a little and glanced down at her left hand.

"Oh, yeah."

The event planner gleefully stepped forward and enveloped Lyn in a bear hug, or as much of a bear hug as one could manage to give someone who had half a foot on them. Lyn stumbled back a little but reciprocated. El didn't care if it was slightly inappropriate to jump-hug someone you only really know through what your husband told you and one brief encounter years ago; she was raised to be affectionate.

The hug disengaged but El took Lyn's hand in hers to better inspect the ring. It was an old but well maintained gold band with some ornamental leaf-type things that wrapped around the sizeable diamond.

"Wow, it's beautiful."

"It's been in Roger's family since the late 1800s." That got El's attention; her head snapped up to meet Lyn's gaze.

"And they let you wear it outside?" El didn't mean that to come out as nearly as incredulous as it did. But the other just woman laughed.

"Oh, his mother had… reservations but I think that's part of the mother-in-law code or something."

"When's the date?"

"Um, we haven't really set one yet but we were thinking of next fall, September or October maybe."

Without meaning to El immediately started going over the logistics of planning a fall wedding. They had nine or ten months, tentatively, their plans might change, which was a good amount of time. Were they getting married in New York or somewhere else? The event planner shook herself out of work mode. She wasn't Lyn's wedding coordinator.

El gushed a little more over wedding related things and finagled a promise of lunch the next week from the redhead (Lyn really had no choice but to agree, Peter wasn't the only Burke who could get their way through sheer presence) and then the two women went their separate ways.

Not a half an hour later El _did_ get a call from her husband.

"Hey honey."

"Hey, El. Look like this case is all wrapped up. I might actually get home on time tonight."

This made El smile. "Oh really?"

* * *

Dr. Evan Birsch believed three things: 1) People are capable of anything under the right circumstances, 2) Good and Evil are relative, and 3) Keith Richards will live forever. The first two were spawned out of his decades of studying the worst of humankind and the third was stemmed from adolescent hero worship and the assertion pickled bodies simply couldn't die.

The British national tapped his cigar against the windowsill before taking another draw. His wife had declared the things contraband so he had to sneak them into his own house- _his_ _own house damnit!_- and smoke them out of a window instead of in his comfortable, plush office chair.

Damn harpy. He'd leave her if he didn't love her so bloody much.

The psychologist's internal rant was interrupted by the phone ringing. Dr. Birsch sighed and stubbed out his Cuban (yes, Cuban) cigar before lumbering over to the contraption making that offensive noise to silence it.

"What?"

There was female laughter at the other end. "So that's where I get my phone etiquette from."

The sound of his favorite Yankee pupil's voice made him smile. "Lyn, love! How are you?"

"I'm fine, but judging by that lovely phone message you left me the other day you have a different opinion."

Ah, his girl had always been sharp. "Oh, that. I really don't know why I had to hear about you going back to the Bureau from David and not from you." He had been casually chatting with his old friend, Chief of Police David Zammery, and he slipped in an innocent question to see what his girl was up to and lo and behold Lyn was back at the FBI White Collar division.

"I didn't know I had to have your permission before taking a consulting job." Evan could actually _hear_ Lyn rolling her eyes.

"Whom are you working with now?"

"I'm back at the White Collar division with Peter."

"Oh, you still don't have that ridiculous crush on him do you?"

"Wha-!" Lyn's incredulous squeak made the older profiler chuckle. Lyn could

detach herself with the best of them but Evan still knew all the right buttons to push. "NO! Jesus, would you let that _go_ already!"

"Why would I let that little tid-bit of history lie when I can get that embarrassing squeak out of you."

"You're a horrible person."

"Yes, as I am constantly reminded." Evan didn't even try to disguise the self-satisfaction in his voice. "How's your new job working out for you, anyways?"

"Well Peter hasn't changed at all so that's nice."

"Still saintly?"

"Yes, walks around with a halo, it can get kind of distracting but it's really useful when you need to find your keys in the dark." Evan heard her pause and take a kind of deep breath like she was deliberating telling him something. "He has this CI who's actually more like his partner and the guy is…"

"Oh?"

"It's Neal Caffrey."

Dr. Birsch couldn't help it, he burst out laughing. Neal Caffrey had been a sore spot for London Yard since he stole that priceless fertility statute from the National Museum of Natural History and slipped away right through the authorities' fingers. There were some people who were still a bit upset about that. Regardless, Evan knew exactly who that little charm weasel was.

Poor _Saint Peter_. The British man could only imagine the things that boy's undoubtedly illicit antics must be doing to the FBI agent's that Dr. Birsch didn't like Peter; he liked the man just fine; he just liked driving him up the wall more.

"And what do you think of Mr. Caffrey?"

"Well he has a narcissistic personality but… he's just-" The woman on the other end let out a huff of air. "…something else too."

"Something else, huh? I can imagine."

"Don't mock me."

"If I played favorites with you it wouldn't be fair to all the other children. It might give them a complex." Evan Birsch settled back in his chair and twirled his now nonsmoking cigar between his fingers. "Have you successfully added Mr. Caffrey to your list of conquests?"

"Excuse me?" Lyn's voice had risen an octave. His question had induced offense (especially since the wording of the question was a double entendre, which was no accident. Dr. Evan Birsch never said anything by accident) which triggered a stress response in her body which tightened to vocal cords which caused her voice to come out higher.

"Your conquests. You subconsciously set out to win the approval and affection of all the men around you because of your stern and distant military father."

"Stop profiling me! And I do not! And stop smoking those awful cigars or I'll tell your wife." Then there was only a dial tone.

Evan struck a match against his short beard using the flame to light the cigar between his lips. After a long draw and release, the psychologist put his feet up on his desk and grinned. Lyn had always been his favorite.

* * *

The more Neal learned about profiling the more confident he became in his ability to do a psychological work up on Lyn. As it turns out Neal had been profiling for years, he had just know it as casing a mark. Sure, profiling was a little more in depth than the average dossier of a target but the con man was positive that it wouldn't be a problem.

It also gave light to the fact that with a little maneuvering and training his psychologist could become not just a friendly face but a partner in crime.

God that would be useful.

Neal strolled into the White Collar Unit and bypassed his own desk for Lyn's office. Finding it empty and showing no signs of life having inhabited it this morning the con man strode to his handler's office.

"Hey, Peter," Neal stuck his head in past the door. "Is Lyn coming in late today?"

The FBI agent was distracted, shuffling through papers on his desk. "No, Lyn's got the day off." Peter finally looked up at his charge and must have seen some sort of disbelieving look on Neal's face because he settled in for what he thought as an unnecessary explanation. "She's a consulting profiler, Neal. If there's no one here for her to profile there's no reason for her to come in. I'll call her if I need her." Neal didn't move from the doorway and Peter rolled his eyes. "Are you having separation issues?"

Neal pursed his lips in a frown at the older man's teasing.

How was he supposed to bombard the psychologist with incentives to aid and abed him if she wasn't going to bother to show up?

"You know, it's sad to see that common curtsey, such as asking after a missing coworker, is subject to mocking. It's a sign of a society in decline." Neal tapped a finger against his temple. "You should think about that." Having effectively deflected Peter's interest Neal popped out of the office and headed back to his desk to strategize.

Neal hadn't been at his FBI issued office space one minute before Cruz was standing in front of him with a large stack of paperwork.

"I have some presents for you."

"Aww, so you do care." His patented smile was a bit tight but Lauren seemed to enjoy that.

"Mortgage fraud. Have fun." The female FBI agent dropped the papers on his desk and walked away.

Neal's mood significantly lowered. He _hated_ mortgage fraud cases. They were so _boring_. And it meant he would be glued to his desk all day instead of getting the prohibited joy of walking around the areas of Manhattan outside of his two-mile prison opened to him when his was with Peter.

But back to the problem at hand. She did say she regularly ate lunch with a friend who owns a designer bakery. And no one knew more about each other than girlfriends. If she ate there while working at the Bureau then it couldn't be farther than a couple of blocks from the federal building. Google Maps to the rescue.

Three bakeries within a ten block radius of Federal Plaza but only one owned by a woman. Susan Whistler: owner of Half Baked.

Gotcha.

* * *

Lyn had spent the morning gathering wedding catalogues and was going over to Susan's office so they could oooh and ahhh over them. Not that she was going to actually order anything from a catalogue, she would _never_ hear the end of it, but it might give her some ideas. And it seemed like fun.

It also helped her actively avoid thinking about Evan's unsolicited analysis of her socializing habits. So she got along with men, so what? Most law enforcement employees were male; it would be counterproductive to her career if she didn't get along with them.

She _did not_ have conquests.

Limely bastard can suffocate in his own cigar smoke.

God, she missed having him around.

The redhead shifted her bag to open the door to Susan's bakery and scanned the space for her friend.

Rabid dogs gnawing on her extremities.

Hanging off the Eifel Tower only tethered by her pinkie toe.

Buried underground in a small, small box wearing a wool unitard.

Locked in a room with her future mother-in-law.

These were all things she would rather be doing than seeing Neal Caffrey standing in _her_ friend's establishment, leaning over the counter and quite obviously charming said friend.

"Wow, Lyn totally undersold you." Susan's voice sounded just as awestruck as her face looked. Caffrey's grin widened.

"Really?"

Oh. God.

They hadn't seen her yet; she could run. Or pull the fire alarm or fake a seizure or something.

Too late. They spotted her.

"Oh, Lyn!" Her curly-haired friend didn't sound shocked or sheepish or guilty. No, she sounded totally at ease if not completely star-struck. Caffrey was just _fucking grinning_. "C'mere! Sit!" The shorter woman had somehow materialized over to her and was ushering her into a chair and gesturing Caffrey to join the table. She placed a plate of freshly made sugar cookies on the table and then twirled off again to do something Lyn didn't care about right now.

He was still _grinning_. She couldn't even say anything.

Seeing that _**Neal Caffrey**_ had not only invaded her private world but also had totally and utterly conquered it was doing funny things to her brain.

"What are you doing here?" Finally, her mouth started to function. "How did you find this place?"

Though the con man's face had slipped from unreservedly pleased to mildly offended Lyn could still _see_ that dazzling, infuriating, mind-numbing grin lurking under his skin.

"You mean I can't even enter a legitimate business establishment to partake in their delicious services?" Caffrey bit into a cookie. "Did I do something wrong or illegal by coming here? And if the owner of said establishment and I happen to have a mutual acquaintance is that something I should be punished for?"

No. There were absolutely no grounds for her to be affronted.

"No. But- You-" Her jaw was working to find the proper wording.

"Here." Lyn abruptly found her mouth filled with baked sugar and dough. "Have a cookie."

Caffrey withdrew his hand and stood. He smiled and nodded to someone- "Lovely to meet you, Susan."- turned to her, flipped his hat onto his head and tipped it.

He finished the move off with that grin.

Something inside of her snapped. She tossed the cookie obstructing her mouth down on the table as she stood almost knocking her chair over. The redhead stepped to the right to place herself directly in front of the con artist as he maneuvered around the table. The man was wholly unruffled with suddenly being less than a foot away from another body.

"I'm not quite sure what you're doing, but I will figure it out."

Caffrey bent forward, his grin not loosing a tooth. Lyn felt his breath wash over her face if his visage were any closer she would have to look at him cross-eyed.

"Challenge accepted." And then in a waft of cool air he was gone.

There was a rushing should in her ears and Lyn found having to remind herself to breath.

A thunk sound from her left caught her attention and suddenly the sounds, sights, and smells of life around her came back into focus. Lyn turned her head to see Susan leaning up against her display case for support, one hand over her heart, starring at her- or rather at she and the ghost Caffrey's presence. "Oh my _god._"

Amen, sister.

* * *

Neal was floating on air.

Seeing Lyn completely broken open like that- eyes wide, mouth agape, limbs tense: shock, panic; then face flushed, eyes flashing, mouth quick: furious- had been unexpectedly delightful. He had taken his cool and calm psychologist and made a meal out of her.

He _had_ to do that again.

And Susan had been exceedingly helpful. What an adorable creature.

The con man breezed into the office past Jones and Cruz who were huddled together over some papers. Both agents took note of his superb mood, glanced at each other in question before looking back at him.

"What's go you so chipper?" Ah, Cruz struck first.

Neal sat at his desk, feet propped up and hands resting behind his head, and a smile a mile wide. "I had a _very_ satisfying lunch."

Lauren rolled her eyes and directed her attention back to the papers but Jones raised an eyebrow, reading the subtext loud and clear.

Neal just relaxed in his chair. With all the emotional push and pull he was doing with the redhead she was becoming progressively more invested in him. That coupled with the profile he was building, well… Lyn wouldn't be able to escape him if she tried.


	15. Blood in the Water

**Ok, let me start out by apologizing. I had most of this chapter written in an acceptable time table and then my inspiration fled. I tried over and over to finish but everything came out wrong. I ended up rewriting many, many times. I know it's short and again, I'm sorry. I know this won't make up for my long absence but I will try to make amends. I want to thank everyone who reviewed as you were my driving force to keep at it. So here's chapter 15; I hope you like it.**

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* * *

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It had taken much longer than Lyn would admit to calm down after Caffrey left Susan's pastry shop. He just… wasn't supposed to _be_ there.

Just _what_ was he doing here? Despite the fact she had no actual evidence Lyn _knew_ down in her gut that there was an ulterior motive lurking around somewhere and mocking her.

Susan, though a friend, was still a businesswoman and so had corralled Lyn into her back office as to not let the impeding scene frighten the customers. The other woman was sitting quietly next to Lyn on the couch just waiting for detonation. Lyn had one of the coolest heads Susan had ever seen in situations where most people would be prone to screaming, crying, or even violence. But the psychologist was still only human and could still throw one spectacular temper tantrum. Susan had witnessed the chaos and destruction before.

"What did he want?" Lyn was proud that her voice came out calm. Intellectually, she knew this was not Susan's fault. The sweet bakery owner had no defenses against someone like Caffrey. But way down in her lizard brain she was less sympathetic.

"Well we were just talking about business and then he mentioned that he worked for the FBI and I mentioned you and then I don't know! He was just so-"

Lyn cut her off by abruptly standing and pacing around the office.

_Challenge accepted._

Those two words were resonating inside the redhead's skull and paralyzing most of her cognitive function. God, she wanted to scream and stamp her feet and throw things- but no, she was an _adult_ and adults don't _do_ those types of things.

"I think he likes you," Susan blurted out. Lyn gave the other woman her best incredulous look. Had the other woman _ever_ misinterpreted the situation.

The redhead supposed to an outsider Caffrey's undoubtedly numerous inquiries about her might seem like romantic interest but Lyn knew better. This wasn't crush fact finding, this was tactical reconnaissance.

"Trust me, Susan, that is _not_ what this is all about." Lyn sat once more and sunk into the cushions- being mature was exhausting.

What was it mothers told kids about schoolyard bullies? Ignore them and they'll go away. It might seem counter intuitive but that particular piece of advice was actually functional. Most of the enjoyment tormenters get is from their target's reaction. It gives them a sense of power and validation. So don't give them that power.

Lyn closed her eyes and let her head fall backward to rest on the top of the sofa. The woman let a vindictive smile spread over her face. This was going to drive Caffrey _nuts_.

* * *

Peter usually came in early Monday morning to sort out the various files that landed on his desk and assign them to different agents. There were a few agents sitting at their desks franticly typing up their reports that were supposed to be on their bosses' desks closing time Friday night or who had come in the middle of the night with some epiphany. Nothing unusual, until he saw Lyn's office light on. He hadn't even called her in.

The agent poked his head through the office door to see the redhead bent over her desk writing rapidly in a file, a whole stack of them teetering on the side of her desk.

"Uh, hey, what's all this?"

"Your fault."

"Funny, you don't look like my wife but you sound an awful lot like her. El? Is that you?"

"Ha-ha. Very clever, Peter. Apparently I've become resident profiler for the whole New York office. _Apparently_ sending their profiling requests to Virginia like they're supposed to is just way too much hassle when they can just have a clerk hop an elevator."

Peter could understand the lure of taking advantage of Lyn's presence in the building. The BAU was notoriously swamped; who knows when they would get around to your case file. But still, this is not why he brought the redhead in.

"You want me to talk to the other departments?"

Lyn slumped back in her chair and gave him a tired smirk. "You want to stick a flag in my skull too? 'Property of Peter Burke'?"

Said FBI agent gave an appreciative snort. Lyn just shook her head.

"Thanks, but I can handle it." She bent back over her file. "This is mostly displaced anger anyways."

Peter quirked his eyebrows when she didn't elaborate. "Ok, then." With a nod he headed to his office. What were the odds this had something to do with Neal?

Probably the same odds he'll forget his and El's anniversary next year.

* * *

Neal admired Lyn. He really did. Lyn hadn't thrown that plate of cookies at his retreating back (and Neal sort of thought she would) and he had not been visited by an angry Peter doling out reprimands for his behavior at Half Baked. Nope, the weekend had been calm; plate shaped bruise and ticked off FBI agent free.

But the con man supposed he should have given Lyn more credit than assuming she would go to Peter. Perhaps she was more underhanded than he thought. She was probably sitting in her office plotting her revenge.

And Neal was kind of excited about that.

"Hey," Lauren smacked his foot perched on his desk with a folder. "That's federal property you're leaving scuff marks on," the agent said with a grin as she headed towards her own desk.

"And a good morning to you too, Lauren."

Hours passed and though he had spotted Lyn in her office she had yet to leave it to exact her revenge. Or perhaps she didn't need to leave her office… Or maybe she needed him to come to her. Or perhaps a million different possible variations on vengeance.

The con man pushed himself away from his federal-issued desk and practically bounced up the office stairs. No one had ever accused him of being patient or cautious.

Neal casually knocked on the door as he walked through it. He got a distracted 'Hmmm?' in response. Neal made a big production of pulling out a chair and sitting directly in front of her.

It still took her 5.8 seconds to look up from whatever undoubtedly dull paperwork she was filling out. Neal pouted (he most certainly _did not_!) at the delay. He was _way_ more interesting than paperwork. Not to mention better looking. When the psychologist finally made eye contact with him she looked utterly bored. Wasn't it valiant of him to swing by and deliver her from tedium? Not to mention hand her an opportunity on a silver platter to (try to) exact retribution. And they say chivalry is dead.

"Can I do something for you, Mr. Caffrey?"

His gut reaction was to respond with a lazy smile and 'Oh, I'm sure of it' but he decided against it. He shrugged languidly. "Just thought I'd drop by. See how you were doing."

Lyn fixed him with that dull stare for a few seconds and then just returned to her work. "I'm quite busy, Mr. Caffrey." The office fell into silence except for the scraping of pen against paper. Neal felt like his charming self stiffened and shifted so it was out of sync with the rest of the world- like a cardboard cut out next to a full flesh and blood person. He had to resist the urge to fidget in his seat.

The con man tried again. "Too busy for _me_? I thought that's why you were here?" That blatant display of this "narcissism" she kept talking about should get her going.

What he got was a sigh and another blank stare. "If you don't have any valid reason for being here then I'm going to have to ask you to leave me to my real work." Then she went back to whatever document was on her desk. Again.

Real work? Her _**real**_ work? _**HE**_ was her _**real**_ work!

Right?

Neal quickly replayed the short encounter and stopped dead- halted by an appalling thought.

What if she wasn't bored by her files, but by _him_.

No, that wasn't it. What about the whole Half Baked incident? She definitely wasn't bored then! But it clearly didn't have the lasting effect that he wanted.

Damn.

"Neal," Peter's voice in the doorway made him turn in his seat, "stop bugging Lyn and get back to work." Neal turned away from his admonishing handler to say a farewell to his (_**his!**_) shrink before sauntering- read: slinking- off to his own desk.

He didn't quite know what that was but the blue-eyed man unquestionably never wanted it to happen again.

Up on the second floor Lyn smiled.

* * *

Mozzie was lounging on Neal's couch, enjoying his (June's) wine. Normally he would be at Friday tonight but it had been infested with termites so he was currently looking for a new place to spend his Mondays. The little man heard the tell tale sound of male footsteps crossing the threshold.

"Hey Moz."

Said man sat up at the sound of his friend's voice. It was distant, distracted, and those two things combined with Neal Caffrey were never a good thing.

"What's wrong?" Beating around the bush had no place in this situation. Call him an alarmist but Moz knew potential disaster when he saw one.

The object of the older man's worry was standing at the butcher's block, pouring himself his own glass of wine, from a completely different bottle. Neal hadn't immediately taken stock of everything in his loft as he does with every room he enters in an almost compulsive fashion and noticed the already open Chianti. Another bad sign.

"Nothing's wrong, Moz. Don't have a stroke, then who'll drink all of June's wine?"

It sounded like a joke, carefree and light but Mozzie's known Neal since his good looks were boyish instead of dangerous and could smell a lie coming off of his friend a mile away.

"Neal…" Moz, started in his best warning voice. The younger con man must have been more worn out than Mozzie had thought because instead of twisting and turning and bending his way out of having to have this discussion Neal slumped against the counter and took a gulp of wine.

"Lyn's proving to be a much harder nut to crack than I had originally thought."

Moz rolled his eyes. Of course this was about the Suit Shrink. She was almost rivaling Kate on the Caffrey Obsession Scale.

"I was so sure I got to her. And today she just sits in her office doing paperwork and then when I offer her a golden opportunity for retribution she just sits there and-" Neal stopped talking, stopped moving, Mozzie started to worry the other man had stopped breathing until he opened his mouth again to speak. "Isn't part of the definition of Narcissistic Personality Disorder that the person require excessive attention and admiration?"

The follicly challenged man was supremely confused by this turn in the conversation but he felt it was best to go along with it less it trigger some sort of psychological break in his best friend. "Yes…" he answered slowly.

Neal set down his wine and tilted his head back; eyes closed and let out a toll of laughter somewhere between humorless and delighted. It was quite disturbing. The outburst must have sucked all the air out of him because Neal then curled his head towards his chest, shoulders slumped inward like he had deflated and shook that hard skull of his. When he was done with whatever weird physiological reaction he was going through the ex-con moved across the room and slumped on the couch next to his very worried friend. Neal 's eyes were far away, a smile plastered on his face.

"That woman grossly missed her calling."

"And that would be?"

Neal swiveled his head to face Mozzie, pearly whites exposed and gleaming hazardously.

"Shark."

Mozzie was going to need more wine.

* * *

Neal ignored the stares he was getting for walking through the bullpen holding a porcelain horse figurine. He was on a mission. The con man walked right into Lyn's office and placed the horse in front of her and sat.

The redhead stared at the statuette for a moment and then folded her arms on the desk and quirked an eyebrow at Neal, a very clear 'explain' command coming through.

"I believe it's traditional in a joust that the victor gets the conquered's horse." The corner of the psychologist's mouth turned up haughtily. "It's simply a token of my admiration. You preformed beautifully."

Lyn's eyes narrowed and she leaned across the desk. "You were warned not to screw with me, Mr. Caffrey."

Neal mirrored her action. "That I was."

"And despite this lovely offering I seriously doubt you're going to start listening to that advice now."

Neal cocked an eyebrow. "Oh?" He leaned in closer. "And why is that?"

Lyn, not to be outdone leaned forward as well, lowering her voice. "Because I'm Everest."

Neal gauffed. "And you call me a narcissist."

"Yes I do, all the time. I also have it in writing." Her smirk faded a little and her expression became a shade more serious. "You want something from me and you want it very badly. I'm not quite sure what the rules are to this game you're playing but you should know-" Neal could see her pupils dilating and hear her breathing accelerate and damn if he wasn't reacting the same way "-I have a very steep learning curve."

"Gosh, you're pretty when you're hostile."

Lyn opened that mouth of hers to respond when Lauren knocked on the door.

"Umm… sorry to interrupt you two but Peter wants us in the conference room." She gave them an 'I have no idea what you're doing but I think it's weird' stare before exiting the doorway. It was only then that Neal noticed that both he and Lyn had been straining against the desk like opposite ends of a magnet. Neal stood and smoothly pulled a façade of calm and friendliness over himself, ignoring his sweaty palms and the way the back his shirt stuck to him under his jacket.

Lyn had leaned back in her chair, her shoulders relaxed, a small, strange not-quite happy grin on her face. She tilted her head at him consideringly, her eyes now analytical. "We work well together, don't you think?"

"We do."

"It's when we're off the clock that we get in trouble."

The corner of Neal's mouth twitched upwards and he walked to the entranceway of her office, pausing and turning back to Lyn right at the last moment and gave her the full Caffrey smile.

"But I happen to like trouble." And then he swaggered away, the sound of Lyn's sharp inhale following him all the way to the conference room.


	16. Headcase

**Ok, a few things first.**

**1) The small number of reviews for my last chapter lead me to believe that either my muse went away for so long I lost most of my readers or it wasn't up to par with my previous works. **

**2) I felt so guilty over not posting for months that I whipped out this chapter as fast as I could and as it's 3:45 a.m. I have no real conception if it's good or not.**

**3) The writers of White Collar keep stealing all my ideas! When I do introduce a plot line that is similar to the one in the show I will be sure to explain that I had already outlined those scenes many months before so I am not blindly copying what I see on TV.**

**Thank you for your time. Now enjoy the chapter!

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"Remind me again why you're embarking on this insane venture?" Mozzie was fiddling with the chessboard in Neal's loft while his friend dressed. The bald man was struggling to grasp exactly what Neal's technique with the Shrink Suit was supposed to accomplish.

"Because Moz," he started, knotting his tie in front of the mirror, " she's here mostly to keep an eye on me and report my 'progress' and those progress reports, they don't stop at Peter, they go all the way to the top." Neal turned to his friend. "The more the good doctor sings my praises, the more leeway I get. And I could really use some more wriggle room right now."

"Forgive me if I don't understand how jerking her around is getting her to 'sing your praises'," Moz kvetched with air quotes.

"Well I have to break her down first. I've been faced with high security vaults that are easier to break into." Neal finally got his Windsor knot _just_ right and smiled in satisfaction. He did enjoy a nice, Italian tie.

Mozzie rolled his eyes at Neal's silent self-praise. "Fine. Whatever. I still think there are better ways-" he threw up his hands in defense when Neal turned to give him a look, "-but she's your shrink."

The con man returned to his reflection. "Exactly."

* * *

Lyn was currently working on a consult for the local PD. There had been a string of burglaries of high-end jewelry stores the last of which had escalated into a rather violent murder. The police had absolutely no suspects as this guy left nothing behind. He was usually quick and efficient- in and out in no time- but in this one the thief had slipped up- he had entered the store when the owner was still in the back room doing his finances.

The psychologist wrinkled her nose at this discrepancy in behavior. Whoever this was wouldn't make such a rookie mistake so late in the game. His burglaries should be improving in skill and competence, not regressing. And the profile of a person who burgles jewelry stores in the dead of night when no one is around and the profile of a person who breaks into a place and bludgeons a man to death were completely different. There were too options. The first was that someone who was familiar with the case used the burglar's M.O. to cover up his tracks. The second was the burglar had a grudge- and a pretty deep-seeded one- against the storeowner, which caused him to alter his behavior. Either way the police should concentrate on looking into the owner's past looking for anyone who might be pissed off enough to kill.

Lyn finished her recommendation and flipped the file closed. She took a minute to rest her brain and take a sip of coffee (Susan's coffee, which was now delivered to her along with delicious pastries every morning as a peace offering). Peter and his team were currently working on a diamond forger case and as Lyn knew nothing about the precious stone forging world she would be of little use until they had an actual suspect.

Naturally her moment of peace was interrupted by Neal Caffrey. Lyn suspected that all future moments of peace where to be interrupted by that man.

"I thought I smelled real coffee."

Lyn pulled her travel mug closer to her body and narrowed her eyes at him. "You can't have any."

Caffrey put his hand to his heart, pretending to be wounded before sitting at her desk (uninvited as usual).

"Why do you dislike con men so much?"

Lyn did her best to not show how thrown she was by the change in topic. "Where did you hear that?"

"Word gets around."

"That is a long story, which we don't have for right now and isn't any of your business."

"Awww, none of my business is my favorite kind. But seriously, if you're so adverse to those in my profession- former profession why did you take Peter up on his offer?" Neal leaned back and smiled. "I must be pretty special."

"Of course, you would make this all about you."

Peter knocked on the glass wall and gestured to his watch. Caffrey sighed dramatically.

"Looks like it's back to the grind for me."

Lyn waved her hand at him. "Shoo, be gone." She saw him smile and couldn't help giving a small one in return before his tipped his hat and followed Peter out of the office. Lyn shook her head and opened another file.

Several files later Lyn looked at her clock and immediately started scrambling for her things. She was supposed to meet Roger and Mrs. Burke- _Elizabeth_, Lyn reminded herself- for lunch in fifteen minutes.

Lyn was pretty sure that Mrs. Burke had perfected mind control. Lyn didn't even want _Peter_ to meet Roger, let along his wife- which in the end was the same thing. The redhead had no doubt Elizabeth would tell her husband everything. Why couldn't anyone grasp the concept that her personal and professional lives were separate? And yet here she was gathering her coat to go meet her fiancé and her boss' wife. Mind control, Lyn was sure of it.

* * *

Elizabeth Burke was a master at small talk. From working in a gallery to hosting parties there were always people you had to handhold through social situations. So when it was just her and Lyn's fiancé at a table for three at an upscale French bistro the event planner wasn't all that perturbed. Roger on the other hand…

He wasn't awkward per say, in fact he was everything a southern gentleman should be, courteous, sweet and called her ma'am without making her sound old. And pretty easy on the eyes too- in that very all-American apple pie kind of way. But Elizabeth often saw him shift uncomfortably in his seat and check his phone when he thought she wasn't looking.

Elizabeth gave Roger her best friendly smile. "You don't have to be so nervous. It could be worse. My husband could be hear and strapping you to a polygraph."

That got a smile and a good chuckle from the blonde. "Somehow I think you're still the more intimidating spouse."

"Mmmm. Smart man."

Roger shifted a little and checked the restaurant before making eye contact with Elizabeth once more. "You're husband works closely with Neal Caffrey, correct?" He was obviously not comfortable with this line of questioning but he couldn't seem to stop himself.

"Yes."

"Do you know him well? I'm not trying to pry or anything-"

Elizabeth waved him off with a smile. She understood why he would be concerned ("Hey El, honey, is there any significance to a man giving a woman a horse figurine?") but never fear, the event planner was more than willing to defend Neal's honor and set the record straight. "You have nothing to worry about. I know Neal's reputation precedes him but he's really a good man at heart."

She was about to continue when she saw Roger light up at something over her left shoulder and before the woman could turn around a blur of strawberry blonde hair and Dior descended upon the table.

"I'm so sorry I'm late. I got caught up at work," their late lunch guest breathlessly gushed.

"Hey, that's my husband's line."

Lyn laughed and leaned over to give her fiancé a quick peck hello.

"Don't worry, we didn't order yet," Roger assured his future bride.

"Oh, good." Their waiter seeing that their full party had arrived immediately swooped down on them. Once he left with a full note pad Elizabeth turned to her companions to keep the conversation flowing.

"So Lyn, how did Roger propose?" She figured Roger didn't want Lyn knowing he was inquiring about Neal and by the tension that just drained from his shoulders El knew she figured right.

"Oh." Lyn's head ducked down and a kind of bashful smile flashed over her face. "Well… we were in the kitchen and just talking, laughing and we looked at each other and knew. We wanted to spend the rest of our lives like this. So he asked his parents for the family ring… and we were engaged." Roger reached over to grasp Lyn's hand and they took a moment to smile softly at each other. Roger turned back to El.

"I know it's not the most traditionally romantic story but hey," he turned back to Lyn, "I got what I wanted." The redhead just rolled her eyes.

"He's so gallant, don't you think?" she said in a false swoon to El who giggled in response.

"So, do you know where you want to get married?"

"In the city, definitely," Lyn responded. "There's really no such thing as neutral ground with our families so we figured if they're going to bring the bayonets and rifles we're going to make them travel a little." The wedding talk continued with Lyn venting how her mother was driving her crazy with emails and voice mails saying she wanted to get with the planning already and how the dead silence from her grandmother was rather foreboding. El wasn't quite sure what the family history was there but it didn't appear to be good. Roger chimed in once and a while just like a groom to be should. It was all so… picture perfect. Norman Rockwell couldn't have painted them cuter.

The waiter came back to serve their food in the middle of their conversation. El glanced over at her husband's newest team member and it seemed Lyn had become distracted by something out the window enough to lean over to the side to look around the man setting down her plate.

"Is that…?" Lyn's eyebrows furrowed. "Excuse me for a second." She stood from the table and quickly exited the restaurant, completely baffling Roger.

"She usually doesn't do that."

But El was too busy searching for whatever had caught Lyn's attention so entirely to respond. Then she saw it. It was- Oh!

* * *

The hardest part about becoming an FBI agent is finding the right shoes. You needed something that was professional enough for the office but still appropriate for sprinting down streets and scaling fences. Half the time Jones wanted to say screw it and just wear track shoes all the time.

This was one of those times he wished he _had_ worn more athletic shoes. Chasing down a suspect in loafers was not going to do him any favors later. But as the FBI agent was currently in pursuit of a suspect he didn't have a whole lot of excess energy to worry about what his joints would be like in ten years.

Damn this guy could run. It had seemed so routine, so simple at the beginning. Knock on the door, ask a few questions, look for anything suspicious and then the guy- Martin Langer- just takes off prompting this multi-block chase. At least he was gaining ground.

Wait. Was that Lyn?

In the movies the next few seconds should have happened in slow motion. The redhead was so distracted with trying to figure out what Peter and Neal (who were a bit behind him, that track scholarship really did pay off) were doing that she didn't even notice him or Langer coming right at her. Langer did notice her however and saw fit to shove her out of his way and directly into a wall. The FBI agent was close enough to hear bone crack against brick over the New York traffic and the sound sparked something in Jones to push those last few feet and tackle the scumbag. Hard.

In the background he heard his boss yell out Lyn's name and he knew she'd be taken care of. "Martin Langer," he started, yanking the suspect's arms behind his back roughly, "you're under arrest." This was definitely going on his top ten most satisfying arrests list. What kind of cowardly bastard shoves a tiny thing like Marrow in to a brick wall?

He yanked Langer to his feet and turned to check on the scene behind him. Peter was switching back and forth between Lyn and looking at Jones with pride. The psychologist was crumpled on the ground against the wall, hand on her head, blood running down the side of her pretty face. Jones really wasn't surprised to see Neal crouched over her.

Caffrey was asking Lyn to repeat the last five words he said which Jones recognized as a field test for a concussion. Apparently Lyn recognized it too.

"Are you serious, Neal?"

"Hey, you just called me Neal!"

"Yeah well I was just hit over the head with a brick wall, my cognitive skills are not at their sharpest."

"Just repeat the words, Lyn."

"Don't-"

"We'll deal with name calling later."

Jones was amazed that even with the head wound and the copious amounts of adrenaline probably still pumping through Neal, the two of them were still able to keep up their banter.

"Cat, Butterfly, Spoon, Car, Chap stick- which is two words, by the way. Satisfied?"

"Not really. That's a lot of blood."

"Head wounds bleed a lot, Mr. Caffrey. What the hell happened?"

"This guy," Jones answered, shaking Langer for good measure "was fleeing the FBI and decided to add assault to his charges."

Lyn snorted. "Smart guy."

"I called the EMTs," Peter said gravely, the sound of sirens in the distance.  
"I don't need-"

"Yes you do, Lyn. Don't argue with me." That was his stern, end-of-discussion voice and no one defied that particular tone. "Jones, get this guy to booking." He leveled a glare at Langer and the man appropriately cowered.

"Yes sir."

* * *

Peter watched Jones frog-marched Langer away with satisfaction. The EMTs were just down the street now and Peter turned to Neal to tell him he had to move out of the way when the FBI agent swore he heard some guy with an accent yell Lyn's name. And then he heard his wife's voice.

"El?" he asked the ether, bewildered as to what his wife would be doing here. He heard the EMTs in the back ground coaxing Lyn to stand and Neal arguing that he already gave her a field concussion test but he was too distracted with El running up to him a tall blonde man right on her heels.

"We were at lunch and we saw-" his wife was out of breath, her face flushed. The man strode right past them and directly to the wounded psychologist.

"It's fine," he assured her, his hands comfortingly on her shoulders, "we got the guy and the EMTs are looking over Lyn now." Peter glanced over his shoulder at the ambulance only to see Lyn blocked by Neal and the mysterious new guy posturing at each other. "El, who is that?"

* * *

Neal didn't want to admit it but he was freaked. His brain was kind of stuck on a loop of Lyn jogging towards them, Langer shoving her into that wall, Lyn crumpling to the ground, Lyn with blood all over her face. Luckily years of working under pressure kept him from showing obvious signs and have enough presence of mind to check for any serious brain damage.

When the pair of EMTs got there they told him he had to move and he vaguely recalled Peter saying something to that effect earlier. The con man hadn't really been paying attention. He got out of the way but followed the trio to the ambulance reporting on her condition as he had assessed so far.

Neal was hovering, the EMTs were dabbing at her head wound and Lyn was insisting that she was fine- it was a well oiled machine of chaos until a new player arrived and threw off Neal's precarious new balance.

"Roger!" Lyn practically jumped out of her skin.

"Excuse me sir, you're going to have to back off," the burlier of the EMTs said. _Roger_ was not pleased with this response.

"I'm her _fiancé_!"

The emergency worker looked surprised. "Oh, I thought he…" The man glanced at Lyn's ring and then at Neal.

"He is _not_ her fiancé."

And Neal did _not_ like the way he said that. Like it the very idea was offensive. Neal shifted to stand a little taller and a little closer to the southerner, and the other man puffed out his chest in response.

"Oh would the two of you zip up already?" Lyn snapped. "You can measure later." Roger's face tightened with unhappiness. Neal didn't understand; he thought Lyn's comment was funny.

_I'm totally the better fiancé._

The female EMT attending to Lyn's head paid no attention to him or Roger. "You're lucky."

"Oh, so that's the pounding sensation in my skull." Lyn raised an eyebrow. "I was wondering what that was." Only Neal laughed and only Neal was rewarded with a smile.

"You don't even need a stitches. I know it seems worse but head wounds can be deceptive."

"That's what I told him!" Neal took offense to the hand being waved in his direction.

"Still, we'd like to take you to the hospital just to make sure there isn't more serious damage."

Lyn sighed loudly. "Fine." This eased a little of the tension in Neal's gut.

"I'm going with you," a southern accent said over his shoulder. And there's that tension again.

But Lyn didn't seem to have a problem with that so Neal forced his feet to remain planted and his mouth shut. It was much harder than he anticipated.

Before the ambulance doors closed Lyn leaned forward. "Tell Peter and Elizabeth that I'm fine." Neal nodded. "Oh, and thank you, Mr. Caffrey." That smile of hers even managed to make the blood seem less serious.

Neal watched the ambulance drive away. Was it just the adrenaline messing with his sense or did that last "Mr. Caffrey" sounded an awful like "Neal"?


End file.
